Discordance
by Inlerah
Summary: KotOR: In desperate attempt to thwart the triumphing Sith, special taskforce is sent out, but things go terribly wrong. Fate of the galaxy lies in hands of a powerful Jedi and her charge...or does it?
1. Birth of Tragedy

**DISCORDANCE**

by

**Inlérah**

**Disclaimer: **I only own the original characters I created, everything else belongs to George Lucas and Bioware.

Any and all constructive criticism is always welcome, as well as any other random comments my writing may evoke.

* * *

Chapter I: Birth of Tragedy

Carth watched as the man before him stood up slowly, shaking his head to clear it. His bright blue uniform was stained dark red and torn on the left shoulder. He looked around apprehensively, running a hand over his short-trimmed brown hair.

"It's about time you woke up. I was getting worried."

"You're Carth…I remember you from the ship," he closed his eyes briefly, as if trying to gather scattered thougths.

"We were the last survivors onboard. We made it out just in time, before Endar Spire blew to pieces."

The man looked up again, blinking.

"I am Vren Mareg, by the way."

"Yeah, I know. I saw your name in the last minute reinforcement list that came with the Jedi. Pretty impressive record."

"I wasn't aware that every crewman had access to my personal files," Vren said suspiciously.

"Well it wasn't a personal file, really. Just some general information and brief description, pointing out your supposed elite abilities. Are you some sort of a commando?"

"Special operations and assignments, more I cannot say. I heard a lot about you, Carth Onasi. Decorated war hero, one of the best pilots Republic has to offer. Or so they say."

"Yeah well, don't believe all the stories you hear. I'm just a soldier."

"Modest, too," Vren intoned sarcastically as he flexed his joints with loud snaps.

Carth frowned, but said nothing.

"How long have I been out?"

"Two days. I wasn't sure you would ever wake up, with the way you were thrashing in your sleep."

"I had a strange dream," Vren furrowed his brow. "Like a…vision."

"Well, you hit your head pretty badly back there. It's a good thing I managed to drag you off to this abandoned apartment. Who knows what the Sith would have done, had they caught us. I hear Force can do terrible things to a mind," he shuddered unvoluntarily.

Vren opened a strongbox near the bed, looking for his weapons and armour. Carth indicated a locker at the wall.

"We shouldn't have any problems staying hidden for now, since we're just two soldiers. The Sith won't be looking for us. Unlike Bastila," a shadow passed over his face.

"Now what? Are we supposed to just wait until they rescue us?"

"We can't count on any rescue teams, since this is a Sith occupied world. They probably don't even know we're alive. But we have to find the Jedi Bastila and make sure she gets off the planet. She's the Republic's last chance, with her Battle Meditation."

"Not likely," Vren stated as he pulled his equipment from a nearby locker.

"What?" there was a hint of caution in Carth's voice.

Vren closed the locker door and turned around.

"You heard me. I'm not about to go searching through Sith-infested planet for some lost Jedi bint, who may or may not even be alive, as far as I know. In fact, as soon as I get my things, I will be departing."

"Don't be stupid!" Carth snapped. "We have to work together if we are to survive! Do you know what the Sith will do if they catch us? Bastila's our only hope of ever getting off this planet, and we should at least try to look for her. For Republic's sake, if not for ours."

A hysterical laugh escaped Vren.

"Oh yes, the Republic. Let me tell you something, _Carth_. I've spent the majority of my life thus far serving the Republic, putting my life on the line in the recent war more times than I thought I ever would when I got out of the Academy. What has the Republic ever done for me, except sending me from one bad place to another?"

"That's a short time to grow disillusioned," Carth said quietly, growing distant. "I've seen and suffered things I wouldn't want on my worst enemy, I'm the last one you should preach on the horrors of war. But we're still soldiers, and we've still got a duty to stay alive and serve the Republic."

"Indeed," Vren said emptily as he put his armour on the table, looking at it critically. "And serve we do. Who said I was disillusioned? I just don't like being used and manipulated." He sighed deeply. "At least it's a reason to fight, if nothing else. I suppose you're right. We'll look for Bastila," he said, eyeing Carth suspiciously.

Carth seemed to have calmed down, explaining the situation they found themselves in as Vren put on his armour, scowling as he spotted tears in the fiber weave. Then he sat down in an armchair, staring off through the window.

"We'll head out as soon as the night falls," he said absently, not sparing a glance at Carth.

"Alright. In the meantime, we should scout out this building, maybe we can gather some information," Carth suggested.

Vren made a grunt of finality as he got up from his chair and grabbed his weapons.

They didn't have to look long before trouble found them. Already on the first bend of the circular passageway they found a couple of Duros' accosted by a Sith patrol.

_"We're not doing anything wrong! We're just trying to make a living on this planet!" _one of the aliens intoned quickly, plaintively. For his efforts, he recieved a blaster shot that cut through his chest and left a bloody mark on the nearby wall.

"You alien scum make me sick!" the Sith Commander said contemptuously, his rifle still warm.

Abruptly he turned, cruel eyes trained on the odd pair.

"Humans, hiding in this place?" his initial surprise was quickly replaced by realization as he took in their appearance. "They are spies for the Republic. Kill them!"

With that, everything sprung into motion. Vren pulled out his twin vibroblades with practiced ease, rolling into range. Blaster fire skimmed the surface of his armour, leaving only a black mark down his back. At the same moment, Carth pulled out his blasters, jumping to the side even as he fired them with deadly precision. Vren threw himself sideways in a flowing motion, falling past the blaster bolts. Dodging the sporadic blaster fire, he came up in a crouch close to the Sith Commander. With a swift move he cut aside his rifle, his other sword embedding deep in the man's abdomen, cutting upward into lungs.

The Commander gurgled up blood and collapsed, with Vren immediately jumping out of the line of blaster fire. One of the droids was damaged by Carth's shots, with its motor function knotting damaged it stumbled, dropping its rifle.

Vren jumped the other one, still warm blood spraying in thin pattern from his blades as he swung them furiously, shaving off metal in bright sparks. He targeted the droid's shoulder joint, disarming the droid as he cut into it. Next target was the sensitive memory banks at the base of droid's neck. He stabbed with one blade into it, while the other one slashed from the side, cutting into the protective plating.

As he chopped at the droid, Vren noticed the other one fall under barrage of Carth's shots, collapsing with a smaller explosion. Finally the droid he was attacking emitted a shower of sparks as the internal power relays were severed, falling down with a metallic thud.

Vren straightened, catching his breath and glancing at Carth.

_"Thank you, they would have killed me had you not intervened."_

"We had little choice in the matter," Vren said off-handedly as he sheathed his swords and looked around the corridor sharply.

_"Poor Ixgill, he should not have said anything,"_ the Duros seemed to be entranced by his friend's body.

"This isn't good," Carth said, stepping over the Sith Commander's corpse. "This place will be crawling with the Sith when they find out their patrol didn't return."

His words snapped the Duros from his trance.

_"Don't worry,"_ he said hastily, _"I will move the bodies so it will look like they were killed somewhere else. You don't have to worry about any more patrols."_

"We thank you," Vren nodded to him, gesturing for Carth it was time to leave.  
Fortunately for them, everbody in this building minded their own business, and it showed. The main hallway was all but deserted in light of the shooting, every door locked tightly. The only one that could be found were the shady Twi'lek vendor and the half-senile janitor.

Still, they might know something, and they were in too tight of a spot to miss any opportunity for an advantage.

Carth was watching the hallway as Vren spoke with the Twi'lek vendor in Huttese. His gaze wandered out the large side window, over the towering spires of the city. It was late afternoon already, the planet's sun in its dying cycle for the day. It was enormous, almost matching Coruscant itself in its metropolitan splendour.

Almost.

The city was decaying, from the inside. Abandoned landing bays littered the artificial landscape, growing redundant as the main trade route bypassed Taris when new hyperspace routes were discovered. With effort he stopped himself from reminiscing too far back, no need dredging into that sorrow again. It came well enough by itself.

XXX

"It fits," Carth said absently, watching Vren as he tried on the battle suit he bought from the Twi'lek in exchange for his old one and some software spikes.

They even managed to get some information from the building's janitor, but nothing that would help them find the missing Jedi.

"How long do you think she'll survive in the Undercity?" Vren asked as he fastened the buckles of his armour, stretching.

"She's a Jedi, she'll survive," Carth said quickly. "There's something I wanted to talk to you about," Carth's voice was slightly tensed.

"Is that so?" Vren was still fumbling with his armour.

"Don't you find it a little strange that you were specifically requested by the Jedi for this mission, and you were the only one left to survive"

Vren stopped fastening his armour, looking at Carth intently.

"Just what are you getting at, exactly?"

Carth shook his head.

"I don't even know, not for sure, but isn't it all a little convenient? Just what was your position on the Endar Spire?"

"I don't like where this conversation is going. Do you suspect me of something? I was not exactly in the prime position to know of the mission's details. I am a translator, and a soldier, and I followed orders. Just like you did, I presume."

"Look, I don't like the way this looks, just think about it for a moment; the last survivor who happens to be in a Jedi party with classified-"

"Are you implying _I_ had something to do with the crash?" Vren's voice lowered dangerously.

"No. Maybe. I don't know. I don't know anything about you, so I don't really trust you. It's nothing personal," he got up from his seat to pace nervously and gesticulate. "I just don't trust people easily. They all too quickly turn my trust against me."

There was an undertone of melancholy in Carth's voice. Vren took a few steps closer.

"And just what exactly are you planning to do about these paranoidal tendencies of yours?"

"Nothing, not yet," Carth sighed, looking away from Vren's face, his voice concillatory. "Not if you don't give me any reason."

Vren stared at him with an unreadable expression, then walked past him abruptly, speaking as he moved.

"Try anything and it'll be the last thing you ever do."

Carth threw himself back into an armchair with a resigned sigh as the doors to the bathroom hissed closed. After a few more minutes he got up again, going through the supplies they had available. After he finished that, he tried to log into the public information network, but the terminal seemed to be damaged beyond repair.

Soft, yet clear dual tone sounded through the apartment, startling him. It was the door chime, he realized with alarm. Vren peered from the bathroom, blaster in hand. The sound came again, echoing through the apartment from hidden speakers. Vren nodded towards the door, moving to open it.

Carth quickly assumed an out-of-sight position at the wall next to the door, nodding silently to Vren. With a subdued hiss, the pressurized door opened, revealing two Twi'lek females. They gasped fearfully as a blaster was pointed in their faces.

_"Oh! I'm sorry, we thought this apartment was empty!" _one of them hurried to explain.

Vren kept his blaster leveled at them.

_"It's not,"_ he said evenly. _"Not anymore."_

_"Please, we didn't mean to disturb you, we didn't know there were any humans in this complex."_

They started as Carth showed himself from behind the doorframe, eyeing them suspiciously.

_"I live just nextdoor, my name is Aasira,"_ the Twi'lek said, trying to break the tension even as her friend was pulling her away.

Vren scanned the corridor behind them quickly, putting his blaster away reluctantly.

_"Go away," _he said simply, closing the door before she had the chance to speak again.

He shook his head irritably as he turned back to Carth, stepping over to the computer terminal.

"It doesn't work, I've already tried it. We're lucky anything works in this place," Carth looked around vaguely.

Vren ignored him, prying open the computer wall panel with a knife. A bundle of optic cables dropped out, lines of chipsets deeper in. Pulling a long-nosed pliers from his sidepocket, he reached in probingly. He fumbled with them with an intense frown on his face, until something sparked and popped, smell of burnt plasteel filling the room. Stepping back he inhaled sharply, staring at the machinery resentfully.

Carth was watching him from under his brow from across the room silently. Pushing the loose cables back into the wall, Vren forced the compartment cover back, slamming it into place.

Looking around dully, he took a seat of his own and pulled out his datapad, scrolling through it with occasional soft beep. They remained like that in silence, an occasional muffled sound from outside breaking it. Carth tapped his fingers on the table impatiently, forehead creased in thought. Thoughts that coursed through his head were of a dark nature, as he tried to find the best way out of a situation he found himself in. He never thought he would end up on occupied Taris, lost and stranded while the Sith slaughter the crew of Endar Spire and destroy the ship. He leaned back, clenching his jaw and looking idly out the window. Life had a way of throwing unexpected surprises your way. Unpleasant, most of the time.

"I'd like to know if we have a problem."

Vren's sudden proclamation brought Carth from silent contemplation, he was now watching him intently.

"What?"

"I'd like to know if we have a problem regarding your trust issues."

Carth crossed his arms over his chest and sighed, slouching back into his chair.

"I knew you wouldn't understand where I was coming from. I told you, I don't trust people easily. It's nothing personal, just the way I am."

"Then why don't you leave? I can't afford to have someone around who doesn't trust me," Vren's tone was acerbic.

"I don't mean it like that, it's just…why don't we drop this instead, and focus on important issues here?"

"I consider this important," there was unrelenting blade in Vren's voice as he kept boring into Carth with a glare.

"You just don't give up, do you? Too many people have betrayed me in the past, and I'm not about to let myself be set up for it again. I don't want to talk about it."

"Fine, be paranoid all you want, I don't care," Vren said dismissively.

"Let's just drop it, okay?"

Carth got up, agitated. Heavy silence fell, tensing the atmosphere further. At least for Carth, Vren seemed completely indifferent as he slowly pocketed his datapad, getting up.

"I'm going out, perhaps there's a public terminal somewhere in the vicinity," he said as he made for the door.

Carth started to follow, but Vren's look stopped him.

"I won't be long, just to log on briefly and pull down any useful information. You stay here and watch the apartment."

"I don't think this is a good idea. We should stay together."

"We'll go look for Bastila when I get back, I'm not going anywhere," Vren allowed a hint of annoyance to enter his voice.

Carth threw his hands up in silent defeat, turning away. He took off his jacket as Vren left, taking his personal blaster out to examine it on the workbench in the corner. Might as well occupy his mind with something.

XXX

Innumerable ships and transports flew around overhead, drowning the skies in heavy traffic. The walkways of Taris were no less crowded, with mostly humans rushing to their daily errands, countless lights flickering in skytowering buildings. Late afternoon sky was slowly turning red, dusk approaching fast with the flourish not dying down, even increasing, if anything. The lives of many, held in uncertain minds now shivered collectively, with darkness spread through them like thin, yet unbreakable threads of durasteel webbing, constantly preying on life. Many of those transports that glittered on the sky were Sith, and the busy street life was interspersed with ruthless Sith patrols. The heavy mar hung over Taris like boiling rot just under the skin, birthing tense uncertainty.

Amongst the towering monuments of a culture in decline, a slightly more worn out building stood in the Upper City, which was still luxurious when compared to the lower levels of Taris.

Carth blinked the sweat from his eye, focused on the task at hand. Adjusting the beam amplifier on a blaster was tricky, even for someone who knew his blasters as good as Carth. Finally the proper chamber clicked into place, elicting a sigh of accomplishment from him. He quickly reassembled the blaster pistol, cleaning the sensitive parts in the process. Door hiss behind him captured his attention, his hand instinctively reaching to his side. Carth relaxed as only Vren entered in his usual nonchalant manner.

Appraising the room quickly, he moved to put some items into one of the lockers.

"You bought something?" Carth asked softly, not looking up from the workbench.

"Some grenades, they were on sale in Kebla's Emporium. Personal shield from the Twi'lek in the lobby. Something tells me we're going to need it soon."

Carth made a non-committal sound as Vren stopped to stare out the window.

"It's almost night," he remarked. "We should move out. I did some scouting in an immediate area, gathered some information. The majority of the escaped pods seemed to have crashed in the Undercity, and the Sith have already sent out patrols to look for survivors. The more we delay, the less chance Bastila has."

Carth finished with his blaster, holstering it and wiping his hands on a dirty rag.

"Then we should put all our efforts into finding her, I'd like to get this over with as soon as possible."

Vren nodded sharply, his expression businesslike.

"It won't be easy. The access to the lower levels is restricted, and we'll have a hard time passing through without alerting the Sith."

He turned to pace towards the table slowly.

"There's two things we should do first: Gather as much information as we can, and collect some assets. We're desperately low on credits. The Cantina here is a good place to start."

Carth nodded slowly, grabbing his fiber armour. Vren went to sheathe his two vibroswords on his back, holstering a blaster on his belt.

"You're taking those?" Carth asked, his eyes indicating the blades on Vren's back.

"I always go prepared. There shouldn't be any trouble for us on the streets or in the Cantina, but we're on a hostile world, occupied by the Sith that are looking for Republic survivors. A little caution is in order."

"I guess you're right. Let's go."

Carth hit the lock switch with one last glance around the apartment.

"Watch it, I just cleaned the floor," the janitor's voice greeted them in response to Vren's dirty boots leaving dark imprints on the polished floor.

"Am I supposed to walk on air now, just because you don't want to clean the floor again? I thought that was your job," Vren retorted sternly.

"Oh, there's no need for that. You're just like all the rest, complaining and bitching all the time, like I'm nothing but dirt or something."

"I didn't know the floor was wet," Vren said, surprisingly apologetic.

"It's alright, I suppose, you're still new here and all."

"Yes, yes we are. Could you tell me something? The Cantina here…"

Carth wasn't listening to the conversation, his thoughts were occupied by other concerns. Namely, how did the Sith ambush them in high orbit so suddenly, and with such ease? At first, he thought that the Jedi onboard would protect them, especially when lead by someone as powerful and reknown as Bastila. But he soon realized that the Sith were no less apprehensive about their attack and the Jedi could do nothing to thwart them. Even Bastila fled, he still remembered her face as she stepped into the escaped pod as the ship shook around them in its dying throes. The look she gave him, one of stern support as she nodded in silent understanding when he said he would stay behind and make sure everyone gets off the ship.

He didn't think much of his chances then, but things worked out well in the end. Relatively well, considering the circumstances. He still felt dull chill as he thought of all the little red dots on the ship's life support monitor, blinking out one by one, until only one remained, steadily clinging on against the clusters of hostile blue ones.

Carth stopped, realizing Vren was not by his side. Looking around, he found him near one of the apartment doors, seemingly lost in thought.

"Vren?"

He looked up, motioning for Carth to come closer.

"What are you doing?"

"These apartments, they are all pretty much abandoned, with illegal aliens living in them. Aliens that are hiding from authorities."

"Like we are. What's your point?" Carth was getting impatient.

"My point is," he glanced around the hallway, "That if we could find an empty apartment, we could probably get our hands on some credits we are very much in need of."

"Empty apartment? What are you…wait, are you saying what I think you're saying?"

Vren just stared back silently.

"Are you serious? You're actually thinking about breaking into these apartments?"

Vren was now fiddling with the electronic lock on the door.

"We need the credits, Carth. Bastila is important for the Republic, you said so yourself. How are you planning on finding her without any proper equipment, weapons, something to bribe slippery government officials with, you know how these things work," he frowned ever so slightly. "Do you know anything about locks, Carth?"

"No, forget it, I'm not getting into this," he waved his hands in a rejecting gesture.

Vren grabbed his arm and pulled him back, his voice a low warning.

"Now listen to me, you damned fool! We're not on vacation here, and these people are just some lowlife rabble, without even any legal right to be here."

"And that-" Carth started, but stopped abrupty as an Ithorian passed by, giving them a suspicious stare.

"And that gives us the right to break into their homes like some common criminals?" he whispered harshly after the alien was out of sight.

"I'm not going to argue with you about this. We need the credits and I'm going to get them, with or without your help, just don't expect my help when the Sith drag you off to torture just because you couldn't afford a better armour!"

Carth sighed, closing his eyes briefly.

"What if the apartment isn't empty when we just barge in like that?" he asked in defeat, a subtone Vren didn't fail to notice.

"Just leave the talking to me," he said dismissively. "Now, do you know anything about locks or not?" he indicated the door with his eyes.

With a sullen nod, Carth stepped over to the lock, pulling a small device from his belt. Vren turned to watch the corridor, standing so he obscured what Carth was doing with his body.

A Twi'lek walked by, staring inquisitively.

"Keep walking," Vren said as he nodded to him, his tone businesslike.

Finally, with a faint beep and a metallic click, the lock came undone. Carth pocketed the security spike mechanism, with Vren hitting the open switch and striding in boldly.

The apartment was sparsely furnished, not that different from their own in design. Empty liquor cannisters littered the corners, with stale food platter on the table.

A single occupant was in the apartment, whirling on them from where he was hunched over at the table, an angry expression on his face. It instantly turned to fear as he took a look at the unwanted visitors, taking a step back.

"Please! Don't hurt me, I-I don't have the money, I swear!"

He fumbled with some credit chips, a spark of hope entering his voice as he offered them to Vren, who just stared at him implacably.

"Please, don't tell Davik I'm hiding here! Here, fifty credits, it's all I have, take it, take it!"

Vren appraised the apartment quickly, slowly walking forward and taking the credits from the man in sinister silence.

"Is that all you have?" he asked as he shamelessly opened a nearby locker, rummaging through its contents casually.

"Yes, yes, I swear! Just don't tell Davik I'm here, he'll kill me!"

He stared at Vren in horror as he casually ransacked the cabinets in the room, pocketing a couple of powerpacks and a few battle stimulants.

Carth was standing by the door awkwardly, avoiding the man's eyes.

"It'll have to suffice for now, I guess," Vren looked around the apartment inquiringly again, finally fixing a disinterested stare on the man. "I won't inform Davik of your whereabouts."

"Thank you, oh thank you!" he seemed to be greatly relieved.

Vren nodded for Carth to leave, which he eagerly did, taking his own leave in a casual manner. Once outside, he shot a lopsided grin at Carth, who just shook his head in silent disapproval.

"Who's Davik?" he asked quietly as they made their way to the exit.

Vren shrugged indifferently.

"How should I know?"


	2. Opportunities

Chapter II: Opportunities 

Master Vrook Lamar stormed down the corridor of Dantooine Jedi Enclave gravely, random Padawans scuttling from his path. Rounding the corner, he almost tripped over Master Vandar.

"Master Vrook," came the surprised rasp as the small Master stumbled back.

"Master Vandar, we must speak at once!"

"Indeed. What matter is of such great importance, Master Vrook?"

"Not here," Vrook said quickly, eyes darting around the empty corridor. "This is something that must be discussed in private. Come."

Vandar looked like he was about to say something, but then only rushed helplessly after Vrook. Even in his hurry, Vrook took the time to strictly scold a Padawan as he walked by. The young man seemed enamored with a blushing Twi'lek girl, apparently intent on explaining this matter or the other in great detail.

"Wipe that smirk from your face, Padawan. Such reckless abandon leads to the Dark Side."

The flustered Padawan stammered, entangling himself in his feet and bowing clumsily, only to begin the procedure again as Vandar passed by, paying him no heed.

The heavy-set door assembled itself together, closing after Master Vandar. He glanced around the empty conference chamber briefly, shuffling over to where Vrook stood uneasily.

"There is great darkness afoot," Vrook declared before Vandar even had the chance to speak. "The Endar Spire has been destroyed! Bastila and her dangerous assignment have disappeared!"

"She has not yet become one with the Force," Vandar croaked firmly. "There is still hope."

"Yes, I can sense her as well," Vrook sighed in frustration. "We never should have sent her out like this. She is too inexperienced!"

"What other choice did we have? There is no one else that we could send on this task."

"But at what risk? Without her Battle Meditation the future looks grave indeed. And I do not even want to think of the other dark routes things may go down."

Master Vandar looked down, pausing momentarily.

"We must trust in the Force. Bastila will resist the Darkness with all her being."

Master Vrook made a pained expression.

"Let's only hope-"

The door slid open, admitting Master Zhar and another Jedi.

"I apologize, I did not know anyone was here," the Twi'lek Master looked at them with a small smile.

"No need, Master Zhar," Vrook waved dismissively. "We were merely engaged in idle conversation."

His eyes rested on the newcomer pointedly.

"I was waiting to introduce him to the Council this evening, but since we are here: Masters, allow me to present Knight Navash Orai, a former student of mine. He has just arrived from Coruscant to coordinate the war convention with the Academy."

The younger man bowed respectably, his voice calm and collected.

"I am honoured, Masters. I've been looking forward to this visit for a long time. If only it would not be necessitated by such tumultous circumstances."

"How is the situation on Coruscant, young Navash?" Vandar asked sincerely.

"Not as good as one might hope, Master, but holding up pretty well, all things considered. The Senate is holding irregular sittings every day, and the High Council is attempting to coordinate and gather the scattered Jedi. The Sith advance each day a little more, but our resolve also strengthens a little more."

Vandar nodded grimly.

"I…have heard of Jedi Bastila's disappearance…" Navash began uncertainly.

"That is a matter to be discussed at the Council meeting this evening," Vrook said quickly. "Until then you should settle in your quarters and perhaps enjoy the tour of our Enclave."

Navash smiled politely.

"Yes, Master Zhar has already graciously seen to that. I shall delay you no longer, Masters."

With another bow, he turned gracefully and left. Master Zhar was about to follow, when Vandar indicated for him to stay.

"Close the door," said the short Master simply. The heavy red door slid closed with a hiss and a clunk.

XXX

Zelka Forn was going through the supplies absently, worries etched on his face as they stormed turbulently within. The occupation has brought anything but peace, and the blunt, violent manner in which the Sith enforced it had made his small hospital a lot busier in the recent months. He just couldn't understand how someone could harbour such blatant disregard for life. Typing in some numbers into a datapad, he rubbed his forehead wearily. As if he didn't have enough worries already, now he had the added burden of worrying about the Sith finding out his secret patients. Sighing, his eyes glanced briefly over the locked door that lead to a restricted area. He couldn't just let them die, even if he knew he couldn't help them much either. One by one, they were brought to him from the lower levels, shortly after many bright trails ripped the sky apart. He heard about the battle above the planet, and he knew what the Sith would do to them. Or to him, for that matter, if they found out he was hiding them.

But he couldn't just leave them to their deaths, he swore an oath that he would preserve all life as a doctor, even at the risk of his own.

His eyes stopped on the small package on the shelf. It contained some food and medicine, already prepared to be taken down to the Undercity to help ease the lives of Outcasts. They had it bad enough already, even without the Rakghoul disease and the swoop gang raiders, he only wished he could help them more. He shuddered unvoluntarily at the thought of the hideous plague.

It has been limited to the lower levels at first, but more and more Upper City citizens have been contracting it lately, and were immediately banished from their former circle of friends and life. People were afraid, and rightfully so. Still, the diseased didn't deserve to be treated the way they were. The gleaming spires belied the blackness below.

Before the occupation, he had some hope that the cure would be soon available, but the Sith shut down all efforts when they took over. Not that they didn't took advantage of it for themselves, he scowled stormingly.

No, the patrols in the Undercity had regularly carried the antidote serum should they get infected, denying its existence publically. Not denying, Zelka corrected himself bitterly, simply not caring what anyone thought. And nobody was stupid enough to go attack one of the Undercity patrols for it.

His focus was drawn to the two people entering his facility, he quickly dismissed his introspection to give them the full attention they deserved.

From the looks of them, they weren't regular Upper City citizens, which was never a good thing. The weapons they didn't even try to hide unnerved him even further. They were probably some thugs working for Davik, although he couldn't imagine what they could possibly want from him. He wasn't running a profitable revenue, he couldn't pay anything to them.

He sighed inwardly, at least they weren't the Sith. Drawing up, he collected himself before speaking clearly.

"Can I help you? If you're in need of medical assistance I'll gladly provide, and I have some basic pharmaceutical provisions for sale."

He studied the men as they looked around the facility surreptitiously. They had the look of someone who has seen combat a lot about them, and their manner suggested they weren't afraid of confrontation.

"Is this some sort of medical facility?" one of them asked, his tone subtly demanding. Zelka didn't like the man from the look of him.

He had short, close-cut hair, a noticeable scar just below his right eye, making Zelka wince inwardly as he thought how he might have gotten it. His features were sharp and radiating confidence, despite which his face did not appear entirely unfriendly. His eyes stared unwaveringly, dangerously, the dull light reflecting on his polished battle suit only adding to the overbearing appearance.

"Yes, I can offer all sorts of medical assistance, like I said. Except for the Rakghoul disease, of course."

"Rakghoul disease?"

The other man had softer features, his voice lacking the silky coldness of his companion.

"Yes, the horrible disease that eventually turns those infected into flesh-eating mutants. It's mostly spread in the Undercity among the banished, but it's been spreading into the upper levels with frightening speed."

Must have been off-worlders then, if they don't know about the Rakghoul disease. Or just pretending to be.

"The Sith," he continued reluctantly, "Have the cure, but they refuse to let civilian scientists have a look at it," there was obvious animosity in his voice. "If I could get my hands on a sample of it, I could-"

"Do you know anything about the Republic escape pods that crashed in the Undercity?" the other man interrupted impatiently, in a manner that put Zelka on guard.

"No, no, I don't know aynthing. Nothing about any escape pods!"

The man's face darkened ever so slightly as he took a step forward.

"You seem terribly protective about this. Are you hiding something?"

"What? I'm not hiding anything…I don't know what you're talking about!"

Zelka's façade was starting to crack under the intense glare, but he remained collected even as the man kept drilling with threats.

"Start talking or you'll be dealing with the Sith!"

"The Sith were already here and I told them what I told you – I don't know anything!"

The man's glare intensified as his voice lowered, chillingly so, but never losing momentum.

"If you don't tell me what you are hiding _this_ _instant_, you may _accidentally _injure yourself by tripping and hitting your face on my foot," his suddenly calm tone belied the malice contained within.

Zelka paled, he had no doubt this unpleasantly overbearing man would carry out his threat without hesitation. He had dealt with such people before.

"Alright, I don't want any trouble," he said apprehensively, leading them to the door in the back. "I'll show you."

With a keycard he unlocked the door, revealing the medium-sized room behind. Vital function support kolto tanks were lined on the far wall, containing floating bodies of Republic soldiers.

"What is all this?" the other man asked, with alarm.

Zelka's features dropped. This is it, it was over. They'll shut down his hospital and throw him in prison…or worse.

"They're crashed Republic soldiers," he said emptily. "They brought them here from the Undercity, and I…I couldn't just leave them to die, or fall in the hands of Sith! I did what I could, but I'm afraid they'll never wake up again."

Only when one of the strangers put a hand on his shoulder calmingly did he relax somewhat.

"It's alright. We're Republic soldiers," he said reassuringly.

"Republic soldiers?"

Zelka's hope soared again, as he looked at the man's warm brown eyes and glanced at the other man in disbelief.

"Then all is not lost yet. I'll keep these men safe, no one knows they're here."

"We appreciate what you've done here."

Sad expression crossed Zelka's face.

"I did my best, but all I can do now is make sure they're not in pain."

The man sighed, looking up at the tanks gravely.

"Don't worry, we won't tell anyone about this."

"This…cure you spoke about, if I brought it here, could you make use of it?" the other man spoke up suddenly from the door, grabbing his attention.

"Well yes, I could manufacture the antidote and stop the spread of the disease, but…"

"Maybe you'll get your cure," he said enigmatically.

Zelka's eyes widened as he looked at the other man in surprise.

"Look, I just said that, I didn't mean…I don't want you to get in any trouble because of me-"

"Don't worry, we won't," the man said brusquely, turning to leave abruptly. The other one offered an apologetic look, going after his companion.

Zelka let out a quivering sigh, feeling the weight lift off his chest. There was hope still, even if he didn't put much trust in these men, Republic or no. But hope was a persistent emotion, not easily snuffed, and it only took a microscopic spark to light up its warm fire again.

Zelka had hope, maybe better days were in store for Taris.

"Hey, wait a minute," the dark man put a hand on Vren's shoulder as he and Carth passed him by.

Vren looked down on the man's hand like it was a stain on his uniform, making him retreat it with haste.

"I heard you talking with Zelka about a cure for the Rakghoul disease."

"Why should I be even remotely interested in anything you have to say?"

The shifty man licked his lips quickly, eyes darting around nervously.

"Well, I just might have a proposal you'd be interested in. I'm Gurney, Zelka's assistant, and let's just say I represent another who is interested in the cure. If you happen to "find" that cure, speaking hypothetically of course, there might be a way to make lots of credits with it."

"Go on," Vren said impassively, while Carth's glare pierced the man derisively.

"Davik wants to get a sample of the cure, has been for quite some time now. He's willing to pay one thousand credits for it."

"Who is Davik and why is he so interested in this?"

"Everyone knows who Davik is!" his eyes lost a touch of their gleam as he noted Vren and Carth's blank expressions. "I guess you're off-worlders, right? You wouldn't know about Davik then. He's the man running Taris, or at least the Taris underworld. And he's even got people in high places in Taris government," his voice lowered to a whisper, "He's in the Exchange, you know, and I don't have to tell you about them. Anyway, he's got everything; money, women, power. I'm going to be like him one day…" he trailed off realizing he already said more than he wanted to.

Vren scoffed, but said nothing, his hands resting on his belt as Gurney went on quickly.

"If he gets the cure, he'll synthesize it and sell it to the highest bidder. He'll make a fortune!"

"Sure, the rich get the cure and the poor suffer because they can't afford it, like they always have," Carth snapped.

Vren shot him a quick annoyed look, motioning him to be quiet. Gurney eyed Carth distastefully for a few moments, then turned back to Vren.

"If you manage to obtain the cure, take it to Zax in the bounty office in Javyar's Cantina. He'll arrange you get paid handsomely for your trouble."

"I've no interest in being a petty crimelord's errand boy," Vren's hostile tone painted a surprised look on Gurney's face.

"What? Davik'll pay you a fortune for the sample, how can you miss such a chance? Zelka can't pay you anything for the cure, he's practically broke!"

He calmed slightly at Vren's stonecast expression, licking his dry lips nervously.

"Why don't you think this through, huh, there's no rush. Just think of the all credits you'll earn

for a simple job. Others would kill for a chance to earn this kind of money," he tried to persuade.

"Why are you so interested in this? How will _you_ profit from Davik getting the cure?"

Gurney's expression fell a little with a sigh.

"What does it matter to you? I get a cut on the side from Davik, sure, and I'm still working my way up the hierarchy," he paused uncomfortably, collecting his thoughts.

An awkward silence choked the air.

Vren looked like he might say something more, but then just turned abruptly toward the door, hands clasped behind his back. Carth gave Gurney a disgusted look as he stepped past him.

"One more thing," Vren paused briefly, turning back to regard him with intense eyes. "I suggest you forget all about this. Because we will _not_ forget."

Gurney avoided Vren's eyes, nodding almost imperceptibly, the unspoken warning not escaping him.

XXX

The bustling city streets served them well, disguising them from the curious eyes. Which was another advantage a couple of soldiers had over a Jedi. Nobody knew their faces, while Bastila's was no doubt imprinted in the memories of most Sith Commanders in the city.

They made their way across the wide walkways, toward the Cantina, trying to look casual. Briefly they stopped as Carth leaned on the durasteel and duracrete fence to peer down over it.

"There's a long way down," he said quietly as he leaned over, staring into the vast sea of skyscrapers.

"What are you doing?" Vren's voice was tinged with impatience.

"Look," Carth said simply, indicating with his hand subtly.

Vren followed his finger and saw what caught Carth's interest. The top of one large building held a landing bay, which was currently occupied by a lifting-off vessel. The ship didn't seem to be military, even if it was luxurious and obviously not just a common transport.

"That's not an atmospheric ship. And it's not a Sith vessel, either. So what is it doing taking off when there's a lockdown in effect?"

"Exactly," Carth agreed as they watched the ship disappear beyond the blue. "Maybe they think they can outrun the Sith."

"Nobody who owns a ship like this would be stupid enough to try that. Such ships are built for leisure and prestige, not speed. No, it's got to have the launch codes."

"Which makes you wonder," Carth continued the thought, "Just who the owner is."

They exchanged a thoughtful look.

"We're not going to find out by standing here all night."

Vren turned back to the walkway, and Carth closely followed. They made their way to the Cantina, with Carth giving the Sith guard outside a tempestous scowl.

The Cantina itself was a large complex, with many adjacent rooms from where music and loud talking could be heard. The smell of alcohol and perfume scents drifted on the waves of unobtrusive music. The general feel of ease permeated the area, with off duty Sith troopers mingling freely with Taris commoners and nobility. Nevertheless, Vren could feel the tension hanging thinly in the air. Despite the first impression one might get, the Cantina was not a place of indiscriminate enjoyment.

Carth went to secure them a table and order some drinks as Vren delayed himself at the Pazaak table. Carth really had not much interest in Pazaak. Sure, he played it, but who didn't? He never got that good to really make some money off it, and the war occupied all of his thoughts presently. He looked around tentatively.

Scanning the crowds, his trained eye searching for potential threats subconsciously. Rather loud music emanated from one of the antechambers of the main cantina hub, and he decided to investigate. A band, not unlike many such stereotypical bands that played the smoky cantinas, was ripping it on stage, with a small group of Twi'lek dancers lining the stage. Patrons were seated at the tables alongside each wall, engrossed in quiet conversation. A few of them were swaying to the music under the stage, others yet danced fluidly. Carth let his weary eyes rest on the dancers for a few moments, soaking in the music.

Maybe he could gather some information here. Casually he approached one of the women that held her eyes firmly on the band, the scent of her perfume attacking him from afar.

"They're pretty good, aren't they?" he offered one of his engaging smiles, his tone conversational.

The woman measured him with her eyes slowly, making a disgusted sound at his apparel, then proceeded to ignore him.

Carth exhaled through his teeth, pursing his lips. The nobles of Taris probably didn't look with fondness upon combat armours worn in such clubs. He was really beginning to hate this planet.

His eyes wandered around the lively place again. He has seen better, but also much worse. Picking up the drinks at the bar, he let his thoughts flow once again. There seemed to be some commotion in one of the siderooms, he stole a few glances before proceeding to the table he previously reserved.

Making himself comfortable, but not too much, he poured himself a drink. The rich, almost sweet flavour of Tarisian Ale burned down his throat with calming ease. Vren emerged from the smoky darkness of the Pazaak room, dropping into a chair next to him with an air of accomplishment.

He offered Carth a smug look, looking through some credit chips.

"Hey, I'm pretty good at this," he commented, pocketing the credits.

"You beat that guy?"

Vren made an indignant sound.

"Please. He is a novice. If only I had some better cards…" he trailed off wistfully.

Carth pushed a glass in front of him.

"I don't know what you drink, so I ordered you some Tarisian Ale. It's not exactly cheap, but good stuff."

Vren peered into his glass, putting it back down.

"I don't drink alcohol. It is counterproductive when you're trying to keep in top shape."

"Yeah? Sometimes life's counterproductive to you, no matter what you do," Carth said as he brought his glass up.

Vren leaned back, eyes gliding over the crowd lazily.

"We still haven't finished our discussion from before," he said suddenly, in a casual tone.

"And I told you I don't want to talk about it," Carth put his glass down abruptly.

"Yes, but I'm bored, so spit it out already."

"Cute. Nice to see you're so full of concern. Alright, though I don't know why you're so hung up on this. I've had bad experience in the past with people I trusted the most. People that betrayed the Republic, and everything they once stood for."

"Go on."

"Revan and Malak – they were the best Jedi Knights, hailed and celebrated by everyone, and even they betrayed us and became the Sith. If even the best of Jedi can go over like this, what does that tell you?"

"They have fallen to the Dark Side, obviously."

"But there's still others, soldiers and people like you and and me, people who didn't fall to the Dark Side. They joined the Sith willingly. And they deserve _no_ mercy!" he motioned wildly with his hand for emphasis.

"And they'll have none. But I didn't join the Sith, Carth," Vren pointed out dryly.

"I know. I probably owe you an apology. But that doesn't mean I'll stop watching you."

"Watching me for what, exactly?"

Carth gave a tired sigh.

"Forget it, okay? I don't want to be talking about this now, let's just try to focus on the task at hand here."

Vren just watched him in silence, searching his face for any indicators of what went on behind it.

"Very well. But this conversation is far from over," he finally acquiesced, looking away.

Uneasy silence enveloped them again, diagonally broken by the relaxing music and rain-like chatter of the other patrons, accentuated with occasional burst of laughter or breaking glass.

"I hear there is much credits to be made in the dueling ring," Vren commented off-handedly as he looked around slowly.

"Yeah, I saw the dueling room before. It looks like something's happening in there. Maybe we should go and take a look."

"Splendid idea," Vren murmured, already getting up.

The dueling room was actually more a foyeur of sorts, with entrance to the arena and duel pits, a handful of sentients sitting around, the Hutt in the corner being the most notable.

Vren spared a glance over the odd assortment of people, before following Carth over to the arena viewscreens. A duel was about to start, judging from the semi-excited crowd that filled the seats, the Hutt watching the screen in his register countertop lazily.

Announcer's voice presented the upcoming fight between Deadeye Duncan and Gerlon Two-Fingers, and Vren snorted quietly at the ridiculous monickers. Even as the announcer spoke, the combatants emerged from the opposite doors, wallowing in the praise of the audience. Deadeye Duncan, an older man with already thinning hair, gestured provocatively, sneering at his opponent. His adversary, the hardened Gerlon Two-Fingers, only curved his mouth down in a gesture of contempt, eyes narrowing and fingers stretching slowly a few centimeters from his holstered blaster.

As the announcer's booming voice faded away, a long, low-pitched siren sounded the beginning of the fight.

Deadeye Duncan pulled his weapon out, but somehow managed to drop it in the rush of the adrenaline. Either that, or he was motorically impaired. Gerlon fired two precise shots from his poised blaster, just as his opponent was bending over to pick up his weapon. The blasts struck him squarely in the chest, throwing him back and to the floor. He did not get up.

The crowd cheered, even though the commentator announced this victory as no big surprise; Deadeye Duncan was the bottom of the barrel, apparently. But the audience cheered nonetheless. They were happy just to see the blood they craved for, and feel the euphoria they sought to escape their dull mundane existence. The momentary exhilaration, as they were one with the combatants for the duration of those short minutes, falling and rising together with them, without the actual pain and with synthetic fear. The excitement and entertainment all rolled into one, with the loss of credits the greatest risk they took. The arena was the only place where the Tarisian nobility mingled freely with the lower classes, all bonded in the simple expression of the most primal sentient urge.

Bloodlust.

"That was quite thrilling," Vren offered sarcastically, stepping away from the viewscreen.

Carth gave a sour smile and a soft snort, looking about.

The mass of people poured from the arena spectator entrance, those who returned to the Cantina instead of leaving through the outside exit, to either celebrate their victory or drown their loss.

A smaller group emerged from a sidedoor, the regular combatants from the looks of them. They spread themselves over the tables near the west wall, some of them leaning on the counter where the Hutt was eagerly collecting and paying out the bets.

Vren made his way over to the duelists, pushing past the excited patrons to the Hutt. The corpulent alien looked up at him with bulbous eyes, a streak of excitement lighting up somewhere in their depths.

_"No more bets human, there are no duels scheduled for the time being. Unless…"_

He appraised Vren with calculative eyes, one small hand going to scratch the side of massive head slowly.

_"You look like you could hold your own in a fight. You interested in the duels?"_ he asked, unable to keep the hopeful tone from his voice.

_"I may be. Tell me more,"_ Vren's tone was neutral.

The Hutt laughed rumblingly, obviously pleased, if unimpressed by Vren's knowledge of Huttese.

_"Good, we could use something to freshen up the ranks. I am Ajuur, the duel organiser. If you think you can stand against the Taris' best, listen up. The duels are strictly non-lethal, and you can use melee or blaster weapon, it's your choice. You fight until one is knocked out cold. Once your opponent goes down, you don't finish them off."_

"Blasters and vibroblades and nobody gets hurt? Sounds like you're feeding us a line here," Carth interrupted, sharply.

Ajuur grumbled, shifting his weight a little.

_"Deathmatches have been illegal since Bendak Starkiller. The arena is lined with energy suppressors, it takes the edge off weapons and makes any combat non-lethal. Keep that in mind when fighting."_

His voice picked up with more excitement as he continued, obviously a thematic he was more fond of.

_"People bet on you before the fight, and you get twenty percent of the purse. You supply your own weapons and armour, and the medics patch you up for free after each fight. You go see them, if you can still walk,"_ another scraping laugh escaped him, amused by his own poor attempts at levity._ "So, what you say?"_

_"I might be interested, but I want thirty percent of the winnings."_

Ajuur made a disgruntled sound, eyes narrowing.

_"Bah, I give you more, then everybody wants more, and I go bankrupt!"_

_"I find that difficult to believe. Not much people have come to see the fights lately, have they? You are in desperate need of a novelty, someone like me. Thirty percent is nothing compared to what you'll make,"_ Vren said quickly, his tone non-negotiable.

Ajuur glared at him for a few moments, then let out another deep laugh.

_"Hah! I like you human, bargaining with a Hutt. If you fight as well as you talk, you'll bring me fortune. Thirty percent it is! I make money, you make money, everyone's happy,"_ he said somewhat reluctantly.

Vren shook hands with him, nodding sharply.

_"You'll need a name, before you can go into the ring, something to arouse the public's mind, a nickname that suits you…"_ Ajuur paused with half-closed eyelids, thinking of a suitable name. Suddenly his eyes widened, brightening with sudden insight. _"I know! How about "Mysterious Stranger"?"_ he tossed the name out for Vren's scrutiny.

Vren nodded slowly, rolling the name over in his head.

"Mysterious Stranger…I like it, yes," he said softly, shifting back to Basic.

_"It's perfect. You've got no past, nobody knows you, it makes you seem like you've got some dark secret. Mystique always makes people bet more."_

"And keeps your identity hidden, in case Sith got a hold of the crew rosters back on the Endar Spire," Carth whispered in Vren's ear discretely. "Not to mention we could use the funds from the fights."

"When do I fight?" Vren asked firmly, still focused on Ajuur.

The Hutt stopped to consider something, giving an indecisive rasp.

_"You're still new, you'll fight Deadeye Duncan first. He never wins, and he's the worst duelist I've ever seen. There won't be a big purse, but it's your initiation into the Taris dueling scene if you defeat him. I'll schedule a fight for tomorrow's evening term. That's at nine-thirty in the evening. Be here at nine, so you can get warmed up and ready for the fight. Maybe you should get to know the regular duelists here before that,"_ he ended with a recommendation.

"Very good. I'll be here."

Nodding to Ajuur, he made his way to the area where combatants lingered, Carth in tow. They appeared to be a rather diverse bunch. Gerlon Two-Fingers, the earlier victor, was sitting at a table, scowling somewhere into the distance sourly. A little further stood a tall woman, leaning back on the bar counter, her expression emotionless as she watched him with cold eyes. Next to her, an older man was sitting, his hair already lined with streaks of grey. Spinning his glass slowly on the table, he gave Vren a curious stare. Off to the side, an armoured Rodian was muttering something to a computer panel, his face twitching occasionally. One of the arena service doors opened, letting out Deadeye Duncan, his hand still rubbing his chest absently.

"Hey, that's my seat!" he called out angrily as he spotted Vren, motioning towards him wildly.

Vren stopped, looking back from the chair he was about to settle into. The middle aged duelist walked up to him, brushing past him indignantly as he plopped into the plasteel seat.

Vren stepped around him, so that he was looking him in the face.

"Just the man I wanted to see," he said with a quiet edge.

Deadeye gave him a critical glare, making an irritated face.

"And who are you, fresh meat? Don't waste my time, do you know who I am?"

Vren kept his voice level, fluorescent ad panel lights illuminating his face as he spoke.

"I want to ask you a few questions."

"I'm Deadeye Duncan, the fifth-ranking duelist around here, I don't have time for your questions. This is the duelist area, you shouldn't even be here. Unless you want to test your luck in the ring," he sneered condescendingly, amused.

"Fifth-ranking out of how many?" Vren asked acerbically, fully aware of how many duelists there were.

"Well, there's only five of us," some of Duncan's bravado deflated from his voice. "But that's soon to change, when I get my break. Maybe with fresh meat like you, but I already see you don't have the guts to step in the ring with me."

"Actually, I have already booked a duel with Ajuur, for tomorrow evening."

"You did?" Duncan's eyes widened in surprise. "Great, I'll show you then who's Deadeye Duncan!"

"I can only hope it is as spectacular as the display you put up today," Vren mocked.

"Big words, tough guy," Duncan retorted derisively. "We'll see who's laughing tomorrow at this time!"

Leaving him behind, Vren stepped over to Gerlon, getting his attention by sitting on the edge of his table.

"What do you want?" the man asked in annoyance, looking up sharply.

"I saw the match earlier. Pretty unimpressive. I have some questions for you."

Gerlon gave a dark scowl, tensing in his seat.

"Ask someone else. Just because you've signed up now, don't think I'm suddenly your best buddy."

"Wouldn't dream of it. What happened to your hand?" Vren asked abruptly, indicating Gerlon's crippled hand, which he quickly pulled under the table.

"Here's some free advice for you; mind your own business! And leave me alone!"

Giving a mirthless smile, Vren slid off the table, casually walking over to the bar where Carth was already waiting. He was looking around the room with an analyzing frown, his hands crossed over his chest defensively.

The tall woman gave a low exasperated sigh as Vren approached, shifting her position slightly.

"Don't bother, I've heard it all before; you really like strong women and you're my biggest fan. Forget it, I'm not signing any autoprints," she said scoldingly before he even had the chance to speak.

Vren stopped in front of her to appraise her curiously, arms crossed, the fingers of his right hand drumming on his biceps absently.

"Who _are_ you?"

Her eyebrows raised infinitesimaly.

"I am Ice, a duelist in the Taris arena. And so are you, apparently. But just because you are a fellow duelist now, it doesn't mean I have to talk to you or pretend I'm your friend. The truth is, I wouldn't have anything to say to you, even if I wanted to."

She held Vren's eyes evenly, completely devoid of any warmth. Vren clenched his jaw almost imperceptibly, saying nothing.

"Ice is not much for conversation," the old man spoke up, drawing Vren's attention to himself.

"So I see," he gave Ice one last glance before turning away. "And you are?" inquiringly, he arched his brow.

"My name is Marl, Stranger," he indicated a free seat next to him. "I've been wondering when you'll come to talk to me."

Vren took the offered chair, glancing at the man in surprise.

"Really? Do I know you?"

"No," he shook his head lightly. "But you've got the look of someone who isn't a stranger to combat. And there's that spark in your eyes, I saw the way you handled that cheapskate Hutt. You remind me of myself in my younger days."

"How quaint," Vren let a hint of venom enter his voice.

Marl ignored his tone, taking a pull from his glass.

"So you want to be a fighter? It's not easy, I'll tell you now. I've been in the ring for over twenty years, and have seen a fair share of fighters come and go. I used to be the Dueling Champion once," a faded glint entered his eyes, quickly subsiding. "But those days are gone, and now I just do my best to stay above the surface."

Vren leaned back in his chair, giving him an unreadable stare.

"I've heard something about a fellow called Bendak Starkiller, who is he?"

Marl let out a long breath, looking down at his glass momentarily.

"He used to be the best there was. Hell, probably still is, if he ever came out of retirement. He was good, real good, but crazier than Twitch. His bloodthirst got such that he wouldn't fight anyone unless it was a deathmatch, used to kill hundreds in his day. But then deathmatches got banned, and he went into retirement. Just couldn't be bothered to fight if he couldn't kill anyone, I guess."

He made a bitterly bemused face as he emptied his glass.

"Maybe it's for the best. I don't know if anyone here is crazy enough to go up against him, if he ever came back into circulation."

"What of these other combatants, can you tell me more about them?"

The old man shrugged, looking at Vren with sharp green eyes.

"Sure. Who do you want to talk about?"

"Tell me about Ice," Vren inclined his head, glancing at the woman in question quickly.

"I figured she'd grab your attention, she usually does. Don't get any delusions, though; she's as cold as her name. She's got skill, and lots of it. I saw her climb up to where she is now all the way from the bottom, and I don't think she's planning on stopping just yet."

"What is keeping her from reaching the top?"

"I am, for one thing," Marl said lightheartedly, giving a small smile. "I used to be the Dueling Champion, like I said, until Twitch came along," his voice carried a hint of bitterness now.

With a nod he indicated the hyperactive looking Rodian in the corner. He was now spinning his twin blasters on his finger, quickly holstering and drawing them at some imaginary opponent.

"He's as crazy as they come, but damn good," Marl continued as Vren looked over the Rodian. "He's also the current Taris Dueling Champion. In all honesty, he's the only fighter I can say I wouldn't stand a chance going against, not that it stops me from trying. He shot through the ranks like a blaster bolt, and has been unchallenged ever since," he gave a shrug. "It's been getting pretty boring lately anyway. But people still come and bet on the fights. Maybe you'll stir some dust, if you're good enough."

Vren gave a dismissing sound, bringing an amused expression to Marl's face. After a brief period of silence, Vren asked again, as Marl knew he would.

"The other two combatants, Gerlon and-"

"Deadeye Duncan, yes. Gerlon used to be among the best, top gun in the arena. At least until the accident."

"What accident?"

"His blaster malfunctioned and overheated. It exploded in his hand and paralyzed most of it. That's why he's called "Two-Fingers", because he's only got two good fingers left. He never fully recovered from it, and has been pushed down the ladder ever since. But people still respect him, for how good he once was. It's a damn shame," he looked over at where Gerlon was sitting, staring off into the distance. "That's why I never use energy weapons, myself."

"And Duncan?" Vren's eyes shifted back from Gerlon to Marl.

Marl gave a quick laugh, more pitying than derisive.

"I wouldn't worry about him. He's been in this business for a while now, and he just can't seem to get off the bottom. He just doesn't have it in him. Some people do, some don't. He doesn't, that's where "Deadeye" comes from - because he couldn't hit anything if his life depended on it."

"You call this business?" Vren's tone was more than a little scornful.

"That's what it is, I don't have any delusions. But it's also so much more than that. The excitement of the ring, the rush of battle, it gets in your blood after a while. I can't describe it, maybe you know what I mean. Yeah, it's a business, but it's also a passion."

"I see," Vren still eyed him somewhat distastefully.

"You're fighting…tomorrow?"

"That's right. With Duncan, in the evening."

"Well, good luck, not that you'll need it. I'll make sure to watch the fight."

"You do that," Vren spotted Carth from the corner of his eye, apparently attempting a conversation with Ice.

"I guess you'll be going now," Marl said even as Vren began to rise. "I'll see you around, Stranger."

Vren nodded in goodbye, heading over to Carth. He arrived just in time to catch Carth's agitated words as Ice turned to the bar and away from him indifferently.

"-hey sister, no skin off my back!"

He greeted Vren with raised eyebrows as he noticed him, turning his attention away from the woman. Vren glanced at Ice and back to Carth again.

"Come on Carth, let's go."

"You found out anything useful?"

Vren took a moment before answering.

"Yes, but not as much as I would like. You?"

"Pha," Carth waved his hand in frustration. "People here are self-absorbed and stuck-up. We won't find much help in the Upper City," he ran a hand through his hair. "Between the Sith and Tarisian nobles, I'm really starting to dislike this place."

"It could be worse," Vren offered unhelpfully as they made their way back to their table. "We could be dead."

"Good point."

Carth dropped himself into the chair with a loud sigh, eyes wandering around the Cantina unfocused. They sat in silence for a while, each burdened by his own set of heavy thoughts. People whirled around them, in vortex of joy and excitement and passion. In the heat of loss, loneliness and yearning. In the heat of the night, the endless pulse of the city. Taris was alive, by its smallest fragment accommodating the tears of the whole. It was nights like this, and moments such as these, that brought Carth closest to the precipice. The chasm, with sharp razorblades of frozen memories neatly arranged at the bottom and waiting for his tired body patiently.

It was in moments like these that Vren found himself in awe of the depths and meanders of what surrounded him, of the reflection it revealed inside him. He pondered, trying to find some purpose for his life in these reflections. Recent events somehow shook him more than they should. He had been in worse situations, after all. It was strange, so strange and dull.

Yet he still had his eyes clear on the path ahead and his fire firm in grasp. It was only these strange moments, filled to the brim with melancholy and sudden dread that came from who knows where, that gave him pause. The moments that tore him away from struggle and sweet tension that came with it.

Perhaps…peace.

Carth reached for his glass and Vren took a deep, steadying breath.

"That Sith at the Lower City lift…if only we could get our hands on some authorisation papers," Vren said distantly, thinking aloud.

"Good luck with that. Unless you want to ambush a Sith Commander, we're not going to get them."

"Perhaps there is some other way down there. Surely there can't be only one way between the levels."

"Most of them are for speeder traffic, you saw so yourself. And they're checked even more thoroughly at the control points. No, that lift's our best chance, _if_ we get the authorisation. It's got only one guard, and is relatively out of sight."

"With the military base right around the corner."

Carth gave a resigned shrug.

"I told you, it's practically impossible to break through with force. We'll have to think of another way."

"Or," Vren began slowly, but stopped as one of the women that have been standing at the near bar approached.

"Hello, boys," she said coyly. "Is there a room for a lonely girl at this table?"

"Actually-"

"Of course, make yourself comfortable," Vren interrupted Carth, offering a sweet smile.

Carth gave him a dumbfounded stare. Still keeping his smile, he shot Carth a pointed look, prompting him into silence.

"What are a couple of handsome boys like you doing all alone in here?"

"Maybe we're just waiting for the right lady to come along," Vren's tone made Carth roll his eyes as he emptied his glass.

"I am Sarna," she said with a slightly surprised smile, offering a slender hand. Vren took it, and held it for a couple of seconds.

"Enchanted, I'm sure. I am Oni, and my friend here is Maqe," he nodded toward Carth, who shot him a surprised look.

"We came here for a business sympozium, but got stuck because of the quarantine."

The woman's smile faltered, but Vren continued quickly, staring deeply into her eyes.

"Ah, it's not so bad, really. Especially if all the women here are as beautiful as you."

The woman's smile returned spontanely, she indicated to the glasses.

"Looks like you've run out. Why don't you let me buy you a drink?"

"Of course. What'll you have, _Maqe_?"

"Oh, I," Carth stammered as the attention was suddenly on him, "I'll just have some more Tarisian Ale, thank you."

"And some Belaria juice for me," Vren winked at her.

Gracefully she got up, slowly moving toward one of the bars through the crowd.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Carth whispered fiercely as soon as she was out of range. "We don't have time for-"

"Calm yourself. We might just use this to our advantage."

"What advantage, what are you talking about?"

Vren glanced absently at Carth in momentary silence, chewing his knuckle in thought.

"Here she comes. Just shut up and follow my lead."

Carth's objections died down as the woman returned, carrying the drinks. She reclaimed her seat with a small smile, eyes glittering with excitement, her cheeks slightly reddened from the potent liquor she already consumed.

"You're off-worlders, you said?"

Vren nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes, we got stuck here because of the quarantine, like I said. Perhaps it's a good thing, I don't know. It offered us a chance to closely get to know the local scene, at least."

"It's not much, is it?" there was a hint of bleakness in Sarna's voice.

Vren shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. Uncomfortable silence fell as Sarna seemed to lose herself in thoughts, while Vren watched her closely and Carth was getting visibly more irritated with each passing minute.

Vren re-captured Sarna's attention by clearing his throat slowly.

"So you are a Sith," he pointed to her division signet ring.

Carth tensed visibly, but Vren clamped a hand on his thigh under the table, giving him a warning look.

The woman's expression seemed to darken.

"Yes, I am. Does that bother you?" she asked with a wisp of challenge in her voice.

"No, it doesn't bother us at all. We're not much into politics, to tell you the truth."

"Yeah, well, I don't like being stuck on this backwater planet any more than you do, believe me. I was hoping to see so much of the galaxy when I joined the Sith, and I got stuck here. Just my luck," she sniffed as she took a delicate sip of her drink.

"I don't know much about the Sith, or the military in general, but I _do_ know that you've got to make the best of a given situation," Vren commented off-handedly.

"Exactly! That's what I always say! People here are always complaining about the quarantine, and I know how much they hate us just because we're Sith. All those quick dirty glances and brusque manner, they don't even know me!"

Vren waved his hand dismissingly.

"They don't understand. You just follow orders, right? And you're not a machine, sometimes you've got to blow off some steam, relax a little."

The woman nodded, her face brightening.

"Your friend seems awfully quiet," she commented abruptly, looking at Carth inquisitively.

"Well, he had it rough lately. His mother died just before we left on this trip, and he's still a bit shaken," Vren said somberly, earning an incredulous look from Carth.

"I'm sorry," she said, somewhat uncomfortably.

"Oh, it's alright. I think he's cheered himself up a bit, didn't you?"

Carth nodded stiffly, his jaw clenched. Vren's hand squeezed his thigh and he put on a plastic smile.

"Yes, it's nice," he said lamely, giving Vren a deadly glare.

"So, you have any plans for the evening?" she asked hopefully, turning back to Vren.

"Depends," Vren flashed another smile, "On what yours are."

"A few friends from the barracks are having a party later on in a private apartment. I would very much like to see you there."

"We'll be there, just give us the address."

"It's nothing fancy, just a few of us together for a little wind down after the shift," she explained as she typed the address into Vren's datapad. "We're not even taking our uniforms back to the base to lock them up."

Vren and Carth exchanged meaningful glances.

"Some of those rules are really stupid. I mean who's going to steal our uniforms from under our noses?" she said lightheartedly.

"Who indeed?" Vren replied, as if tremendously amused.

He glanced at his chronometer.

"Bloody hell, we're late! We've got to send the message to your father, or he'll be in worries again," he said urgently to Carth, who choked on his drink.

"I'm so sorry, we'll continue this later, at the party," he said apologetically as he was getting up, pulling Carth with him. "He's got a very rich and very strict old man," he leaned in conspiratorily, nodding toward Carth. "He's keeping him on a tight leash, since he's the only heir to the family fortune."

Sarna nodded emptily as Carth pushed Vren away, giving him a subtle punch to the kidney from behind.

"Come on, we don't want to keep dad waiting," he gritted out, nodding the woman goodbye.

Vren shot him a murderous glare as they departed through dancing crowds.

"Let's get out of here before you lay out my whole family tree," Carth muttered as they were leaving the Cantina. "I just hope you know what you're doing."

Vren gave him a condescending look.

"I _always_ know what I'm doing."

The doors closed shut behind them, trapping the loud music and laughter inside.

XXX

"Is this the place?"

"Yes, right that apartment block over there."

Vren indicated the large set of towering buildings a little off to their right while consulting a map on his datapad.

"Let's go then," Carth urged, his unease amplified by the proximity of Sith patrols that wandered the streets constantly.

They made their way across the crowded walkway, although the crowds were beginning to thin as the evening stretched on, numerous smaller clubs and cantinas lighting up with vibrant music and flavour.

There seemed to be something going on in the shadow of a large building that overlooked the walkway intersection with speeder tunnels, slightly hidden from the eyes of the pedestrians above.

An older human was being accosted by some thugs, a human and an Aqualish. They carried their weapons openly, brandishing them in a threatening manner.

_"It's time to pay up what you owe to Davik,"_ the Aqualish rumbled.

"Davik doesn't like it when he's being made a fool of," the other one, a dark-skinned human said maliciously.

"I'd never do aynthing against Davik intentionally! I don't have any money left, all I need is just a few days, that's all!"

_"Davik needs the entire sum, not just forty credits! Others might get funny ideas, thinking they can get away without paying to Davik. You're coming with us, we're going to have to make an example out of you."_

"No!" the man's eyes widened in uncontested fear as the two men advanced on him slowly. "They're trying to kill me! Somebody, help!"

The human thug stopped, noticing Carth and Vren staring.

"What's this, witnesses?"

_"Davik doesn't like witnesses,"_ the Aqualish warned quickly.

"You better turn around and walk away if you know what's good for you," the human threatened.

Vren glanced at Carth, he was glaring at the two men, his hands resting on the handle of his blasters.

"I go where I want to," Vren retorted in an eerily calm tone, eyes smouldering. "I don't like your attitude. I think I need to teach you a lesson now."

He exploded into motion even as the thugs fired their weapons, twin blades flashing from their sheaths in a deadly whirl. Two bolts were absorbed by his armour as he crossed the distance to the Aqualish in two charging steps. The other man was trading shots with Carth, using the merchant as a living shield. The Aqualish retreated back in rising panic as Vren disarmed him by cutting of his blaster hand, his other sword stabbing through the alien's eye and coming out at the back of his head.

The remaining thug pushed away the merchant, wounded by Carth's precise shoots. With dismay he noticed his companion's body hit the ground with a wet thunk as Vren pulled his sword out, focusing his attention on him. Dropping his weapon, he pulled out a vibrosword, facing Vren head-on.

Carth swore softly, not being able to make a clean shot without fear of hitting Vren. The exchange was quick and brutal, with the man only making a couple of clumsy parries, before receiving a slap with one of Vren's blades that sent blood, teeth and the majority of his jaw flying.

Emitting gurgling sounds, he fell to his hands and knees, bleeding all over Vren's boots. His head was split apart a moment later with Vren's blade.

"Thank you so much!" the merchant began as he recovered from the initial shock, uneasily glancing at the bodies of his assailants. "I should have listened to my wife and never borrowed money from Davik!"

"It's alright, we're glad to help. How did you get entangled with these people, anyway?"

Carth holstered his blasters, coming closer. Vren approached too, swearing under his breath over the tarnished state of his boots.

The merchant was about to say something, but Vren interjected demandingly.

"I hope you at least have some reward for all the effort we went to for you."

Carth shot him a dark scowl.

"Come on, we don't need this guy's credits. He's suffered through enough as it is," he turned to the man. "Go on, get out of here."

Mumbling out a quick thank you again, the man practically ran off, disappearing in the vast complex behind them. Carth quickly checked if any Sith patrols noticed the scuffle, noting the silent glare Vren was giving him.

"What?"

Vren just shook his head slowly, starting off in the direction of the South City passageways.

Sarna's building wasn't too far of, a good few minutes on foot.

"I still don't think this is such a good idea," Carth commented as they reached the large open park in front of the apartment complex, complete with abstract sculptures.

"I am always open for any suggestions."

"I don't have any," Carth admitted. "But that doesn't mean there isn't any other way."

"Really? You can get us the authorisation papers then?"

Carth gave an undefined sound as they entered the building foyeur, heading for the lifts.

"So, I'm curious. How exactly are you planning on getting those uniforms from an apartment full of Sith?"

"Apartment full of Sith on leave," Vren corrected, pressing the button for twenty-seventh floor. "Opportunities, they are everywhere around us. One just has to learn to recognize them and take them on time."

Carth let out a drawn-out sigh.

"Yeah, this is probably our best bet to get down to Lower City. Just let me know _before_ you again decide to use me in your plans, this time."

Vren's mouth curved upward slightly.

"Of course. I really improvised back in the Cantina, grasping the opportunity as it presented itself. You just be ready for anything in there."

"Don't worry about that," Carth patted his holstered blaster subtly.

The elevator came to a halt with a soft chime and they stepped out. Muffled, but still discernible music could be heard the moment they walked out of the lift. Normally, such disturbance in a fairly upper class building such as this would warrant immediate complaint and provisionary police intervention, but seeing as the police _was_ the source of disturbance in this case, nobody really dared to do anything about it.

Slowly they made their way across the padded hallways to the indicated apartment. The apartment door they were looking for had an unmistakable aura of loud music penetrating even through the thick durasteel, echoing dispersively over the corridor.

They stopped in front of it, exchanging silent looks of readiness.

"Here we go."

Vren pressed the buzzer.


	3. Broken Sword

Chapter III: Broken Sword

"I see the party is well on its way."

They looked around. The luxurious suite was filled with people, conversing and drinking to rather loud and energising music. Some of them danced half-drunkenly, others yet whispered spicy stories into each other's ears, sitting on one of the many sofas lining the walls, or leaning on the walls. Any way you looked at it, the party was in full swing.

"What am I supposed to do now?" Carth asked rhetorically, tension lacing his voice.

"Enjoy yourself and have a drink," Vren answered in confident tone. He leaned closer, his voice lowering. "Keep your eyes open and stay focused."

Carth nodded quickly, his eyes already tracking Sarna as she approached from the back of the main room.

"You finally came! I'm so glad you could make it," she smiled widely, a slight daze in her eyes.

"We hurried back as fast as we could, my dear," Vren smiled, his voice taking on a warm silk-like quality. "I hope you don't mind me calling you that?"

She giggled stupidly, shoving a glass into his hand.

"No, I like it. Come on, there's plenty of Tarisian Ale for everyone. Yun brought a shipment that was recently confiscated from the base. No use letting it go to waste."

"My sentiments exactly," Vren agreed, scanning the faces as they came into view.

Carth exchanged a high-brow glance with Vren. They lost themselves in the crowd, Vren allowing Sarna to lead him away while chattering happily, and Carth heading over to the drinks table, not quite losing his constant tension. For as much as the place was packed, there was a loose kind of atmosphere permeating the large condominium, and if Carth ignored the insignia patches and tattoos, he could almost pretend he was amongst normal people.

Almost.

Because everytime a loud laughter or a lively chatter rose above the currents of music, he would remember that they were Sith, all of them. And he couldn't help but wonder if it was any different than the laugh they delivered when they tortured their prisoners, or gunned down an innocent family, just because they were deemed inferior and worthless by their twisted doctrine. And his thoughts drifted to the past.

Which was the last place he wanted his thoughts to be. He quickly emptied his glass, forcing his attention back to the Sith around him.

"Great party, eh?"

Carth's head snapped to the intruding voice; a young man pouring two glasses of Ale from the dispenser, making some idle chatter as he waited for the cups to fill. An officer, from the patches proudly sewn onto his military style black jumper, he must have mistaken Carth for his comrade in arms. Carth realised that with the battle armour he was wearing, coupled with the weapons and his permanent scowl he could easily pass for an off-duty, overmilitant Sith officer in a place like this. He shuddered inwardly at the mere thought, but let the man keep his assumption.

"Yeah, it's great," he responded, trying to keep his voice from sounding too hostile.

Which was entirely unnecessary, since the man was obviously already under the influence of strong liquor, dully nodding in response.

"At least it's a break from boring shift assignment duty," there was only slight slur to his voice. "I swear, if I have to beat up one more alien for crawling his way up from the lower levels, I'm gonna go berserk!"

He leaned in closer to be heard over the loud music, sloshing the expensive Tarisian Ale all over the floor and Carth's boots. Carth caught a glimpse of the military ID card hanging sloppily from his chest pocket; _2nd Lieutenant Bronson_, it read.

"I thought they were supposed to keep the tiers locked down. Most of these conscripts are incompetent morons, I'm telling you," he took a long pull from one of the glasses. "They can't even find one stray Jedi between three batallions of them. If those Republic terrorists weren't already half dead by the time they get to them, you can bet your credits they wouldn't find them if they were shooting them in the back."

Carth tensed visibly, but his companion never noticed since he was too busy keeping his balance as he laughed.

"So you haven't found her yet?"

"Are you kidding me? These idiots couldn't find their own ass with both hands and all their squadmates helping them! The Governor's having a daily screaming fits, and people like you and me have to listen to it because our men are blind, deaf and stupid!"

His rambling segued into a monologue as he stumbled away toward a group on the balcony. Carth felt a weight lifting off his chest temporarily. So they haven't found Bastila yet, they weren't completely screwed just yet. But he knew very well it was just a matter of time, and every second wasted added more concern to his already overtaxed mind. Deep down, he was preparing himself for the worst case outcome, if the Sith captured Bastila and how would they try to free her.

Could they even?

He scanned the apartment again, trained eyes looking for any potential threat. But there was none, only drunk people trying to forget their daily worries and sober people trying to get drunk. It felt strange, standing next to now careless person that might be looking at you down the barrel of a rifle as soon as tomorrow. Carth pulled back the stray strands of hair on his forehead, unable to lose the suffocating feeling. He didn't like this undercover work, not one bit.

"Enjoying yourself?" Vren asked bemusedly, stopping next to contemplative Carth.

"Yeah, it's great, being at a party where everyone is drunk and a Sith."

He leaned back on the wall, giving another sharp glance across the apartment.

"We were supposed to be keeping low profile, and this kind of defeats the purpose."

Vren gave a slow shrug.

"I doubt anyone here will recognize us as…undesired elements," he said cautiously, wary of the closeness of a chatting couple behind them. He stepped over to Carth's other side. "We cannnot afford to pass such a chance up."

"So long as we don't get ourselves killed," Carth lowered his voice. "They haven't found Bastila yet, I just found out."

Vren nodded slowly.

"That's good. Now at least we know we're not on a futile chase. Let's hope she doesn't let herself get caught anytime soon."

A pair of off-duty troopers stopped before them with big grins, perhaps hoping to entangle them in conversation.

"Isn't it great? I just knew Yun would pull through with that Tarisian Ale," one of them spoke, glancing at his glass appreciatively.

"Which unit are you from?" the other one asked, stupid smile still plastered to his face.

"I'd really rather not talk about my job now," Vren's voice was scornful and formal, hoping to drive them away with his subtly hostile tone.

Their smiles faltered, but only slightly. One of them frowned as he looked down, squinting in the dim light.

"Hey, is that blood on your boots?"

"Yes. I killed someone who talked too much earlier," Vren kept his voice ominous and his expression cold.

Nevertheless, they seemed to be terribly amused by this, bursting into laughter as if he just told a great joke. Carth put down his glass, waiting for the laughing pair to walk away before speaking.

"Maybe we could find some sort of authorisation papers here somewhere," he suggested.

Vren shook his head.

"No, most of these people are just footsoldiers. I doubt very much we'll find any useful documents here."

"Then what? You have a way of smuggling two Sith uniforms from a Sith-filled apartment, provided you'd even know where they are?"

"Patience, Carth, the night is still young," Vren gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder, tearing away into the crowd again.

Carth just smiled sourly, his words unheard as he murmured them into his drink.

"I _really_ hope you know what you're doing."

Slowly the night faded away into torn rags of dawn, the music dying along with the night as many already retreated to their homes in stumbling daze. Those that remained, were soon strewn over the sofas and floor, the potent liquor having its effect. The refresher was filled with unconscious party people, floor and washbasin covered in vomit.

Carth was lounging in the heavy armchair near the drinks table, not a drop of restrained vigilance and tenseness bleeding from his face, albeit it showed his suppressed weariness plainly. His eyes bloodshot and heavy-lidded as he stared out at the lethargic suite, half-empty glass of Cassandra Sunrise clutched in his calloused fingers with familiar ease.

The heavy lights of the never-sleeping city outside subsided to its faintest in the twilight of approaching dawn, that otherworldly time of not-quite-night and not-quite-day, when nothing seemed impossible. The twilight of dawn, when the dreamy melancholy of night collided with grimy, harsh reality of day and formed a bitter taste at the back of one's mouth.

Sarna was slumped over Vren, her fingers still stuck in the sides of his armour where she tried to unstrap it. The effort must have been too much for her, and the alcohol took its toll.

Vren let her unconscious form slide from his shoulder to the couch, looking around tentatively.

Carth was already making his way between the slumbering bodies.

"Search those lockers!" Vren instructed, pointing to a set of metallic lockers off to a side wall.

Deftly picking the simple locks, Carth rummaged through them quickly, finding the assorted Sith uniforms hanging on a rack neatly.

"Got it!" he exclaimed triumphantly, quickly pulling down two of approximately fitting sizes and folding them into a case he pulled from the bottom of the locker.

A soft gurgling sound made him look back and he froze at the sight. A pool of dark crimson was spilling from Sarna's throat, eyes open in bloodshot terror. Vren was leaning over her, bloodied vibroblade in hand.

Turning, he casually stabbed his sword through the nearest passed out man's neck.

"What are you doing?" Carth called out in alarm.

"Making sure they are dead."

"Are you crazy? They'll investigate this!"

"They will do that regardless, since the uniforms will be missing when we leave. This way these people can't cause trouble for us in the future, such as by recognizing us. And it'll look like one of the gangs, or the resistance did it."

"The resistance? What damn resistance?"

"The social atmosphere here isn't very Sith-inclined, in case you haven't noticed. There's bound to be some such organization."

Carth shook his head as if to clear it, a dark expression still on his face.

"Look, regardless, we can't just kill them while they're unconscious! It's, it's…just not right!"

Vren looked up at him, annoyed.

"They are the Sith. The people we are _at war with_, remember?"

Carth was about to respond, but Vren gave him no chance.

"You're right, why don't we just wait until they wake up and make sure they're all armed just so, you know, they'll have a _fair fight_! We don't have time for your sudden upheavals of conscience, and we most certainly can't afford the risk! So go and wait outside if you have a problem."

"So you're just going to slaughter them all?"

Vren moved to the next one with blood-painted sword in hand.

"Just pretend they're the ones that tried to kill you on Endar Spire," he said coldly as he plunged the blade through the man's throat.

Making a disgusted face, Carth grabbed the Sith uniforms and left.

The streets were relatively quiet in the early hours of the morning, but still not completely deserted as was the case in many smaller cities around the galaxy. After all, Taris was one of the biggest there were.

Vren swiftly exited the elevators, cautiously eyeing the lobby for any presence. Carth was already waiting for him in the courtyard leading to the pedestrian walkways impatiently.

"What are you doing?" he hissed urgently upon noticing two big suitcases in Vren's hands.

"I've taken four more uniforms. That way, when they find out about it, they'll look for a larger group, maybe one of the gangs. They will not be looking for only a pair of soldiers."

Carth let out a tormented sigh.

"Lugging big suitcases in the middle of the night outside the Sith condominiums isn't exatcly inconspicuous!"

"Relax. Stay calm and we'll be off this planet before they ever know we were here."

"I don't like this," Carth commented, eyes darting around the scarcely populated walkways nervously.

"Neither do I, Carth, neither do I. But war is never easy," Vren murmured absentmindedly, his attention focused on a solitary Sith trooper that was loitering around the passageway to the Padismes District North.

"If we lower ourselves to their level, then we're no better than the Sith!"

Vren shot him a strange look.

"But we're _not _on their level, we're the good guys here."

"Yeah," Carth said softly, the word heavy with the unspoken.

"Now come on, the patrol has turned into the Lanerge Causeway," he looked around one more time to make sure it clear, then bolted for the interdistrict tunnel.

XXX

"The Minister's cabinet isn't returning our calls, Mr. Kang."

Davik Kang kept walking, his features growing progressively more darker, the secretary keeping pace with him nervously.

"Open a secure channel on the emergency beamload. I'll take it personally in the east conference room."

The Twi'lek secretary nodded eagerly, his lekku untangling with relief as the kingpin's apparent wrath didn't spill out on him. Davik walked through the lavishly decorated hallways of his luxurious estate, finally entering a large room with vaulted ceiling and two lines of chairs arranged neatly around the ridiculously long massive table. He entered a code into the electronic lock at the door panel, sealing the door from any unwanted visitors, which simultaneously activated the forcefield shielding and sound masker noise generators, in order to prohibit any possible espionage.

The stylishly designed holocomm unit dominated the north side of the room, complete with full 360 degree sphere-space holocams and latest in holoprojector technology. The signal for the successful uplink with the secure line was already blinking softly on the control panel, so he just entered the activation code and turned on the device, standing in the recording oval.

A projection of a middle-aged man flickered to life, clad in expensive tunics and bright colours of a nobleman. His manner conveyed annoyance and even unease.

"What's the emergency? You know I have regular conferences-"

"What's this all about, Miras? I'm not paying you to sit around on your ass all day and pretend to run this planet!"

"I know, just calm down already," the man sighed, obviously aware of the reason for Davik's anger. "I've tried to get you an audience with the Senator, but the Sith had him stay in one of their military-owned mansions. You know I can't get through to the Governor, and the base Commander is a fanatic. The Senator was unavailable the whole time he was here. He was either at the base with the Governor, or back in his lodgings holding closed receptions for off-world Sith diplomats. Even I barely saw him the whole time-"

"What do you mean "was"?" Davik's voice turned deadly sharp.

The man swallowed thickly, keeping his voice controlled.

"His transport left the atmosphere two days ago."

"What? Why wasn't I informed about this? You're making a big mistake if you think you can play me, Miras!"

"I'm not trying to play you, I swear! And I'm grateful for all your help in my campaign and continual support, but I can only do so much. The civilian government has been relegated to mere titular function since the martial law was declared. We've even lost the trade leverage because of this lockdown, I don't have to remind _you_ of all people about that, do I?"

Davik stared back at him, dark thoughts brewing under his brow.

"Damn Sith, they've got another think coming if they think they can lock me down!"

The holoprojection of the man moved as he shifted his weight uneasily.

"Nothing can be done, unless it's approved by the Governor. I've even heard that the apprentice of-"

"I don't care what you heard! With the kind of money I'm paying you, I expect hard facts, not some half-baked rumours."

Miras paused, as if suddenly at a loss for words, taking a moment to compose himself.

"Yes, I know. That is why I always try to keep you up to date on the matters, don't I? I would also appreciate if you wouldn't throw that to my face everytime I can't get everything at your beck and call. Even I have limited influence and power, especially in these days."

"Do you know how much credits and resources I've wasted to get you in the position you are now? How much do you owe to me, and the Exchange? And now you can't even do this for me when I need you the most!"

The man brought his hands up defensively, visibly nervous.

"Look, just calm down. This wasn't exactly an open diplomatical visit, if you know what I mean. He didn't come here because he was interested in Taris local politics. You know I would've gotten you in contact if I could. Come on, you know me," his voice was almost pleading now.

Davik scoffed even harder, looking up at the transmission in distaste.

"Yeah, I _do_ know you. Don't forget who got you where you are now. I can bring you back down just as easily!"

The other man's face darkened momentarily at the threat.

"I did manage to intercept a coded relay message for you from Kelvas," he piped up. "He said not to worry; he's rerouted spice and weapons flow through Tatooine, with temporary exclusive contracts for independent transporters."

Davik let out a slow breath. He knew well what the inclusion of independent smugglers into his cut meant. The Exchange was losing big credits with this lockdown, and he was losing even more. If they allowed smaller members to chip in on such a specific market as established spice routes, they were already cutting him out. And he'll be damned if he'll let them! As soon as those codes are retrieved, he'll have a word with that little bastard himself.

He turned back to the other man, who was waiting patiently.

"I still expect full reports on Sith political activity. And I want you to get me plans for the military base in the Tir District."

"Plans?" the holoprojection repeated lamely. "But I'm just a-"

"I don't care how you get them, I want them by the end of the week! And make sure they're detailed."

The other man nodded silently, not wanting to anger the crimelord any more. Davik shut off the commlink in irritation just as the faint buzz could be heard, indicating someone was waiting outside the sealed conference room. He typed in the unlock code in the wall panel next to the holocomm unit, not even bothering to turn around to see who the intruder was.

Familiar voice spoke from the door.

"They're ready as they'll ever be, Mr.Kang."

Davik turned to Canderous, the mercenary as unphased as ever in his silent confidence.

"They better be," he walked closer, Canderous's stare unflinching. "Let them rest for tonight, tomorrow you'll start with the preliminary plans. I want you to go with Holdan later and take care of some scum that's been eating into my business."

"Another gang refusing to pay their share?"

"They think they can get away with free enterprise in my city. I want you to teach them a lesson others won't soon forget," he waved his hand impatiently, obviously greater worries on his mind. "Holdan'll give you the details. He's waiting for you in the speeder garage."

"I've been looking forward to smashing some spines," Canderous supplied in that almost indifferent way of his as he started back out.

"Canderous," Davik's voice stopped him in the doorframe. He half-turned expectantly. "I want those codes."

Canderous nodded silently, not even looking at him.

"You'll get them."

XXX

"How come _you_ get the higher rank uniform?" Carth said sourly, glancing at the jagged insignias on Vren's shoulders.

Vren gave him an exasperated glare.

"What does it matter who wears a higher-ranking uniform? We just need them to get past the checkpoints, we're not going on a parade. If it really bothers you so much, we can exchange them-"

"No, forget it. I'm not taking this off and on again," Carth dismissed the notion with an impatient wave, putting on the armoured gloves. "It's bad enough that I have to wear one of these in the first place."

Vren locked the magnetic buckles on his leggings shut with an audible snap.

"These suits might just give us the disguise and advantage we need. First, we'll visit some of the apartments here."

"I don't like where this is going," Carth said warily, eyeing Vren in a sidelong manner.

"They'll be much more willing to cooperate with a Sith patrol searching through their homes, than some random strangers."

"So we're going to rob them?" Carth asked incredulously.

"No," Vren said pointedly as he put on the helmet. "We're going to impound assets. What do these people need credits for anyway?"

"Oh, I don't know. Trying to make a living, maybe?"

Vren scowled at Carth's sarcastic tone, even though it couldn't be seen through the reflective surface of the helmet face cover.

"We need it more than they do. This is a military emergency, we're fighting for their freedom too, after all. I am certain they would thank us if they knew the big picture."

"Yeah, I'm sure they're just waiting to give up their livelihood just so we could get off the planet. Somehow you don't strike me as someone being very dedicated about the Republic war efforts."

"I'm really not that interested in what you _think_, Carth, so much as what you _do_. And right now, you're doing nothing but wasting time we could be spending more productively. So shut up and let's get to business!"

"Sir, yes Sir!" Carth saluted mockingly. "You sure you're not playing into your role a bit too much?"

Vren just brushed past him out into the hallway briskly, brandishing his blaster rifle. The hallways were mostly empty in the early afternoon, with majority of tenants either in the local cantinas or going about their shady business. They chose the apartment building adjacent to their own, so they would have somewhere to fall back if anything went wrong.

Which Vren constantly assured it wouldn't.

The streets were uneventful, with a random passing-by Sith trooper providing amusement by idly complaining about the banes of having the double shift patrol duty. Amusing to Vren, at least, Carth was tense with anticipation of attack for the whole brief exchange, clutching his rifle stiffly as if he was struggling with the gravitational pull of a black hole.

He only relaxed a bit when they reached the relative safety of the apartment building, its hallways placid in the warm afternoon.

"Remember, act merciless," Vren instructed as he pressed the buzzer, both of them looming in imposing Sith uniforms.

"I don't believe I actually agreed to this," Carth muttered as the door was opened by a wary looking man. His eyes widened as he registered them, swallowing thickly.

"Stand aside, citizen! This is an unannounced search of premises."

"B-But you already searched our apartment last week-"

"Silence! We are to determine if you are not in possession of illegal artefacts or harbouring Republic fugitives!"

The man stepped back, letting them in as he put his hands up defensively.

"Sure, I didn't mean anything, go ahead and search the place."

Vren stomped in determinedly, Carth following with a little less determination. A human woman was standing in the bedroom doorway frightened, wringing her hands worriedly.

"Up against the wall, both of you!"

They obeyed reluctantly, as Vren turned them to face the wall, hands spread out.

"Watch them," he said to Carth, going for the nearest locker.

Carth made sure they remained unmoving, watching Vren from the corner of his eye. He went through the lockers and cabinets expertly, quickly pocketing any credit chips or an occasional stimpack, and making sure he scattered their contents carelessly about.

The door chime rang unexpectedly, freezing everyone for a few breathless moments. It sounded again, snapping Vren into motion.

"Expecting visitors?" he asked the man who was still turned toward the wall, but he just shook his head mutely.

Vren looked at Carth uncertainly, and another moment of silence was cut by the persistent door chime.

"Watch them," Vren said again flatly, starting toward the door.

Outside, a Sith officer was standing, flanked by two pairs of war droids. His insignias identified him as Sergeant-Major, probably on the routine patrol of the building. His eyes widened as Vren opened the door, Carth already prepared to dive behind the bedroom wall and open fire.

"What's this now?" the officer demanded as he stepped inside, reminding Carth that they were still wearing the Sith uniforms.

Vren shot Carth a quick look, and even thought he couldn't see his face, he could almost feel his prompting scowl.

Vren saluted and Carth followed cue, with Vren taking particluar care to exude unconditional discipline.

"All hail the Sith!" he boomed through the suit's intercom, startling the man.

"Yes, yes, stand down, soldier," the Sergeant-Major said in irritation, tapping his hand in the air dismissively. "What is going on here?"

"We are conducting a routine search of premises in this apartment complex, Sir!"

"I see. Why was I not informed about this by the Shift Sergeant?"

"I do not know, Sir!"

The man winced in irritation, scowling.

"There's no need to shout, soldier. I'll just have to take it up with the Major at the base," he said more so to himself than others. "I take it you didn't find anything?"

"No, Sir!"

The man looked around the ransacked apartment slowly, finally settling on the pair.

"Then we won't waste our time with this apartment. Proceed," he saluted, leaving with his droids.

Carth let out a sigh of relief as the door closed behind them, turning sharply to Vren.

"That was close, too close. Let's get out of here before they come back."

Vren nodded, turning on the safety on his rifle and shouldering it. The still frightened couple was now watching them with barely contained disdain.

"Yes, we are departing," he turned to the tenants. "Proceed, citizens."

"I think you went just a little overboard back there," Carth commented as they waited in the lift to take them back to the ground floor.

"Better overboard than sunk."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know, I just made it up," he made an annoyed face. "Is there a point to this? Or are you just making small talk? Because this _really_ isn't a good time," his eyes darted toward the Sith patrol nearby.

Carth brought his hands up defensively.

"Fine, I'll shut up now."

On their way back, they encountered a small group of drunken Tarisians, stumbling into their path.

"Heey, look, it's the Sith!" one of them slurred, pointing at the pair drunkenly.

"Shhh! Are you trying to get us killed?" another one quickly shushed him, his manner indicating he was only a little less intoxicated than his friend.

Nevertheless, one could easily see the unrestrained fear that was plainly apparent in their eyes at the silvery uniforms. Sith were clearly a force not to be trifled with, a fact the populace of Taris was well aware of.

As they stumbled away unsteadily, Vren kept staring after them, his expression unseen under the reflective surface.

"I have an idea," he finally said slowly, in that tone that promised nothing good.

Before Carth could open his mouth to protest, Vren turned back to him, his voice returning to that determined calm.

"Come, let's visit Kebla Yurt's Emporium and some other choice stores. Let's see if we can get a special discount."

He was already turning into the walkway that lead to the Emporium, prompting Carth to follow with a disgruntled sigh.

XXX

For being a restricted access area, the changing rooms and the large circular lobby were surprisingly packed with people. Considering the relatively small number of actual combatants, the multitude of people here was astounding.

The arena wings were an exuberant hive of life and movement, bustling with activity and nervous anticipation that could easily match the one on the other side of the doors. Various servants and medics were darting from combatant to combatant, seeing to their needs and bringing refreshments and weapons. Duel coordinators could be seen lingering among the various people, instantly recognizable by their voluminous headsets and tense, neurotic demeanor as they saw to it that everything ran smoothly and continuously. Personal managers hovered around the individual combatants, cowering as they were getting yelled at, while others yet delivered the yelling themselves.

In the chaotic buzz of anxiety and stilted tension, the combatants themselves were the most calm element of all. They seemed to take the anticipation with relative calm and stoicism that can only come from years of duelling in the arena. Whether stretching and warming up for the upcoming fight, being massaged by a random Twi'lek, or merely observing the hectic crowd as they waited for their fight, they were clearly aware that they were the center of all the chaos that raged around them.

Vren found a spot near one of the empty lockers, putting his blades on the bench as he took off his armour to examine it for any structural weaknesses.

"Would you like something refreshing to drink, a nutritious powersnack perhaps? A massage?"

Vren looked up at the Twi'lek girl in stained attendant uniform, shaking his head silently. A duel coordinator slid his way through the crowd, waving the girl off annoyedly.

"Hello, you must be the new one, right?" he paused as he read the data on his headset, a bulky visor that obscured most of his face from view. "Mysterious Stranger, right? Okay, you're scheduled at the nine-thirty fight, that's in about twenty minutes. You're up against Deadeye Duncan, shouldn't be a problem. Are you familiarized with the rules and procedures?"

The fingers of his right hand tapped mercilessly on the small keypad in his hands, his mind tracking multiple threads at the same time.

"Yes, Ajuur explained it all yesterday."

"Well let me just go over the basics quickly, just in case. The combat's non-lethal, as you know, that means when your opponent goes down, you don't touch him. Got it? Good, now as far as weapons are concerned, you can use any type of blaster or blade weapon you like, with the exception of molecular destabilizers and vibroblades with non-standard charging or harmonic vibration intunement. Which means no disruptors or specially enhanced vibroswords, alright? Also, no explosives of any kind are allowed in the arena! Stimula-"

"Make room!"

They stepped aside briskly as a group of medics hurried past with an unconscious body on a stretcher; Vren recognized the man as Gerlon. They disappeared through the worn white doors of the medblock. Vren's attention was brought back as the coordinator snapped his fingers irritably.

"Hey, hey, pay attention!"

Vren gave him a mildly wary look.

"As I was saying, you can use stimulants, as long as it's nothing above X3 level, and X2 for strength enhancers. Generally, anything that's below military grade nerve scorchers is okay. Oh yeah, medpacks are prohibited," he turned toward the crowd abruptly, shouting to some specific person Vren didn't see. "Mel'khet, why isn't Twitch here yet? He's got the late evening slot, make sure he's here by the time this next fight starts!" he turned back to Vren with a small smile, continuing his train of thought as if it hadn't been interrupted. "It's not like you'll have the time to use one in a fight, anyway. Don't worry, we've got a competent medic team here, they'll patch you up as good as new!"

"Very reassuring," Vren commented dryly.

The man ignored the comment, too involved in the micromanaging that went on in his visor.

"You got all that?" he asked in that nervous, constantly on edge tone.

Vren nodded somewhat absently.

"Great. If you need anything, just ask any of the attendants. Good luck out there!"

And he was off, disappearing into the crowd once more. Vren took a moment to wrap his mind over the hastily explained instructions, putting his armour back on slowly. He spotted Carth with corner of his eye, as he searched for him in confusion. Finally his face brightened as he found Vren off to the side, quickly making his way over.

"I didn't know this place was so crowded! I thought I'd never find you in this chaos."

"They let you in here?" Vren asked, mildly surprised.

"Yeah, I told the guards I'm your manager. Those Rodians really aren't the smartest bunch out there."

"Did you bet on me as I asked?"

Carth nodded silently, looking around at all the commotion.

"I did, but I still don't think this a good idea."

Vren sheathed his weapons into scabbards on his back, waving over one of the busy attendants.

"Have a little faith, Carth."

"Hey, don't get me wrong, I've seen what you can do in combat. But you've been up all night and drinking last night. It isn't exactly smart to go into battle exhausted."

"Rest assured I'm not exhausted," Vren muttered as he ordered some chilled C-tea.

Carth took a tired breath, unwilling to argue about the matter any further.

"And I wasn't drinking, unlike some people," Vren added pointedly, stretching and warming up his joints.

"Fine, whatever. When does the fight start?"

"In about twenty minutes. Aren't you going to watch from the tribunes?"

Carth shook his head, indicating the large projector screens that covered the wall above the arena entrances. Another familiar face emerged from the dressing rooms, tall and proud as she walked over to the lockers. Ice, the winner of the previous battle. Her eyes met and held Vren's for a few tense moments, before she turned her attention back to the attendant that was carrying her armour.

"I didn't know it was so busy in here," Carth commented idly, looking around the large antechamber.

Vren sat down on the worn bench, sipping his tea slowly.

"We're going to give those uniforms a try tonight. It might just be enough to fool the guard into thinking we are his comrades."

"Let's hope so."

Vren stopped to look at him, puzzled by the distant tone of his voice.

"Is something the matter, Carth?"

"No," Carth was quick to retort guardedly. "Nothing's wrong. Aside from the mess we're in, of course."

Vren shrugged slowly, taking another sip of his drink. He looked up suddenly, as if remembering something.

"I've been thinking about the things you said. About the Republic defectors, I mean. About your past."

Carth shot him a sharp, angry look.

"Maybe you should focus more on how we're going to find Bastila."

"I cannot help but think all of this is somehow connected with your aversion to trust people," Vren continued, ignoring him. "And when I say people, I mean mainly me."

Carth sat down on the bench stiffly, his eyes wandering aimlessly.

"If this is gonna be more arguing, I think I'll pass."

"I'm always up for a good fight," Vren rebuked, sipping his tea.

"Yeah, I've noticed. You're pretty tenacious, you know. I'd hate to be Malak and have you on my tail."

"Quite so. Now stop evading and spill it out already."

"Well, now that you've put it so nicely…" Carth said dryly. "Alright, look…"

Vren put down his drink, looking him in the eye.

"Come now, you know you will _have_ to tell me eventually. I want to know who I am stranded in this place with. Tell me about yourself, Carth."

"Me? I'm just a grunt, fighting for the Republic. Not much to tell, really. There are things…I really don't want to remember," he let out a soft grunt, shifting in his seat.

"The betrayal of your comrades-in-arms, you mean?"

Carth gave him a surprised look.

"No…no, it's not that. It's something more personal."

"I imagined so, from the way you spoke about those who defected to the Sith."

Carth paused with a heavy breath, steadying his thoughts.

"One name out of those stands out especially; Saul Karath."

"You say it like I should know the name."

"Well you should. He's…he was one of the Admirals in the Republic fleet that went over, taking great many people with him. He's the sole reason Malak's been so successful in his conquest. He was also my mentor," he added more quietly.

"I see."

"He bombed my homeworld just to prove to the Sith that he's got what it takes to join them. Only a Sith could have killed billions like that."

He paused in distaste, taking a shivering breath.

"He even tried to recruit me into the Sith," he gave a remorseful sigh. "I could have stopped him then and there. I didn't see it at first, but he was trying to win me over by telling me how things change and someone of my perspective shouldn't be wasted in a losing battle. We fought about it, and he left in anger."

"And that is why you keep drowning in self pity?" Vren inquired in brutally forthright manner.

"Don't even try to pin that one on me!" Carth snapped back angrily. "It's not self-pity, or anything like it! I'm not letting this stop me from doing my duty. But I'm going to find Saul, and make him pay for all the grief he's caused!"

"Good. I'd do the same thing in your shoes."

Carth paused, mildly taken aback by Vren's cold reply.

"I guess you would. But we can't talk about it now. You're almost up," he indicated the large digital panel displaying time.

Vren nodded silently, his eye catching one of the coordinators that was waving to him in acknowledgement.

"Well, looks like this is it. Good luck out there!" Carth said as he checked Vren's armour was buckled on tightly, giving him an encouraging slap on the shoulder.

Vren nodded, noticing his opponent approaching as he too made his way over to the arena entrances. He grimaced into what was probably supposed to be an intimidating expression, but it only looked pathetic on him.

"You and me, tough guy, you and me," he spat, gesturing provocatively as he walked by.

Vren turned back to Carth with a lopsided smirk, but he just frowned in concern, glancing after Deadeye.

As Vren disappeared out of view in the crowd, he assumed a position leaning on one of the lockers, eyes darting from the crowd to the large arena monitors intently. After a few more minutes he was beginning to get impatient, but the buzz of the people around him slowly died down as all eyes turned to the viewpanels.

They showed the panned view of the empty arena first, with crowds occupying only a little more than half available seats in the galleries. From their disinterested faces, Carth could assume they were really not that excited about the constant rotation of the same fighters anymore.

The combatants emerged from the antechambers in amphitheatre, among the lukewarm applause of the crowd and announcer's voice introducing them.

Calmly, Vren pulled out his swords, indifferent to the cheering crowds. As the siren sounded, he charged forward in measured pace, Deadeye running toward him with a sneer. He brought his blade down as Vren came in range, dark leer spreading through his face.

With a flash of moves almost too quick to follow, Vren's right sword deflected the clumsy chop as he swooped down low, snapping at his opponent's wrist with his knuckles. Deadeye was disarmed, his sword flying forward from his hands spectacularly. He himself soon followed, as Vren's sword hooked his right ankle, pulling his leg upward and back in a wide arc, sending him crashing face first to the floor unceremoniously.

Even as he landed with a thump and a grunt, Vren's other sword jabbed down toward the back of his neck in a blur, tip stopping short of skin in a display of perfect control.

There was a momentary silence before audience cheered, discordant waves merging into a roar at the display before them.

"Deadeye is down!" the announcer's rich voice boomed over the shrill of the crowd. "But really, is it to anyone's surprise? You will have to do better than that if you want to impress us, Stranger!"

Vren pushed his sword down on Duncan's neck slowly, feeling the resistance as the kinetic energy dispersed by the suppressors. Faint trickle of blood poured down the man's neck as he passed out.

Finally, Vren sheathed his weapons and walked steadily to one of the exits, medic team already rushing out past him.

Making his way through the arena lobbies, he found Carth already waiting outside as he separated himself from the mass of people that poured from the gallery entrances. He waved him over, watching the close by groups of people with the corner of his eye. Carth emerged from the crowd, slightly out of breath.

"That was quick, and effective. Are you alright?"

Vren glanced at him absently, tracking the slow movements of the Hutt as he made his way to the register booth.

"Of course. I hope you're not suggesting that this novice could offer any serious opposition."

"Wow, you're pretty full of yourself, aren't you?" Carth said half-seriously.

"Of course. What else would I be full of?" Vren retorted in the same lighthearted manner, offering a mischievous glance.

The Hutt was unsurprisingly irritated by having to part with Vren's share of the purse, dramatically inserting sighs and wistful moans during the transfer of credits and brief instruction to come back and talk to him when he wanted to schedule another fight.

"Easy money," Vren commented as he turned the credit chips in his hands before pocketing them.

"This time," Carth replied darkly, looking around the ever-excited Cantina crowd.

"Let's go straight back to the apartment. I need to get some rest and we still have to get ready if we are going to go through with the plan tonight."

Carth nodded slowly and they lost themselves in the crowd.

XXX

Vren was leaning over the partially dismantled helmet of a Sith uniform, microscope visor on his face. He was trying very hard to catch some elusive part of exposed miniature integrated circuity with long pliers, extremely thin and delicate melting needle in his other hand.

Carth peered over his shoulder.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm removing the built-in commlinks," Vren said absently, delicate electronics sizzling under the melting needle.

"You think they got trackers on those things?"

"Absolutely. If we get close enough to a scanner range, and the military base is just around the corner from that lift, they'll pick up a stolen identcode and pinpoint our location."

His voice was monotone and flat, his concentration focused on the circuitry in front of him.

"You should have thought of that before we went out wearing them this morning."

Vren just shrugged, his attention still focused on his work. Carth fell into a nervous pace around the room, his troubled expression precursor to his brewing thoughts. Finally he stopped, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared distantly somewhere at the cracked floor-coating of their apartment.

"I think we made a mistake," he said quietly.

Vren put down his tools, turning to Carth fully.

"If this is about those Sith yesterday…"

"Damn right it's about those Sith! They're probably looking like crazy for those uniforms right now, and we're walking around in them like we didn't have a care in the world, pretending to be Sith for a few spare credits!"

Vren stared at him for a few moments of dramatic silence, as if surprised and annoyed at the sudden outburst. Finally, he put down his visor, speaking calmly.

"It will have repercussions, yes. So much the better for us if the pot is stirred a little. We will be able to get by more easily in the chaos."

"That's ridiculous! They'll be looking even harder for the Republic fugitives if they think there's a possibility of an uprising. Tightened security is _not_ what we need right now!"

"They will have to divide their efforts, which only benefits us. At the moment they are focusing on finding Bastila – presuming they haven't already, that is. If we are going to beat them to it, the least we could do is create a diversion."

"This won't work," Carth's tone was leaking pessimism. "I could have thought of a better diversion, if we really needed one."

"I've no doubt. But not the kind where a group of Sith soldiers is put out of commission in the process. There must be _no_ compromises where Sith are concerned!" his eyes flashed with dangerous momentum, a warning finger shooting up in rigid emphasis of his sharp words.

Almost immediately his expression calmed and fire disappeared from his eyes, as if he realized his overbearing vehemence.

"Drawing attention to ourselves is _not_ a good idea," Carth persisted with restrained tone.

"Well, we're not drawing attention, are we? The Sith are a pretty common sight on the streets, much more common than a pair of conspicuous-looking Republic soldiers, pretending to be mercenaries."

He crossed his legs, leaning back in his chair as he spied a glance at the uniforms.

"A few more rounds with these suits and we'll be able to afford some better equipment and thus heightening our chances of actually finding Bastila and getting off this damned planet."

"I don't believe this!" Carth threw his hands up in appallment. "First you go and rob some poor bastard in our apartment complex, then you drag me to a stupid party where you kill all the people after they're unconscious-"

"Sith people," Vren corrected. "And it wasn't a stupid party. We got the uniforms, didn't we?"

"That's beside the point! You didn't have to kill those people the way you did, just as you don't have to go robbing more people of their credits now. Forget it, I'm not doing this anymore! I've been on this planet with you for a couple of days, and I already feel more dirty than I did in the whole damn war!"

A thick silence cut abruptly, pierced by opposing glares.

"Carth," Vren began slowly, picking a piece of lint from his thigh, "How long have you been fighting in this war now? How many years? And with Mandalorians before that? How many people have you lost, Carth, how many loved ones have you lost because of the Sith?"

"That's none of your business!" Carth snapped.

"I want to see the end of this war as much as you do, rest assured of that. I'm not exactly having a blast here, in case you haven't noticed."

"Well with you one never knows," Carth spat acidly.

Vren scoffed darkly.

"Do not presume to know me more than you do. You were the one that wanted to look for this Jedi at all costs. As far as I'm concerned we can give up the search right now, and concentrate on getting ourselves out of here!"

Carth looked like he was about to say something, but just clenched his jaw tightly, turning away abruptly.

"We have to find her," he said quietly after a while, looking down at his hands. "She's our only way out of here. And the Republic needs her. We owe it to all that have lost their lives in this war."

"Well there you go! And we have just the means to do it," he indicated the uniforms lying neatly on the table.

Carth rubbed his face tiredly, nodding in resignation without a word.

"I'm going to take a shower, and then get some rest. I haven't slept all night."

Vren watched him as he walked across the room into the refresher, thick metallic doors sliding closed after him.

"And as far as I am concerned, I don't owe anyone a goddamn thing," he murmured quietly to himself.

XXX

The night life of Taris was, like many other such great cities, quite remarkable. Not even the quarantine dulled it, since the Sith were thoughtful enough not to institute a curfew. A pair of Sith troopers on patrol was not an unusual sight, but the pair that was currently walking down the Detonation Boulevard was different. It isn't often one could encounter Republic military in Sith uniforms.

"That really was a strange experience," Vren carried the conversation, referring to their little adventure earlier. "It's amazing where a right uniform can get you these days. We could have shot people on the street, and nobody would even dare to look our way! Quite…useful."

"But it makes you realize just what kind of terror the Sith are exerting over these people," Carth's tone conveyed disgust, compassion and thinly veiled hate.

"Such is the fate of the defeated."

"You can't be serious?" Carth stopped to look at him in shock. "The Sith are animals, not-not even Mandalorians are this cruel!"

"Will you calm down!" Vren looked around frantically to make sure nobody heard them. "I didn't say what they're doing is right, I merely pointed out that the conquered usually receive woe aplenty. That is why we have to stop the Sith at all costs!"

Carth gave a discontented sound, falling into a steady pace after Vren again. They walked like that for a while, until Carth spoke up again uneasily, his thoughts obviously reaching critical mass.

"Look, I'm sorry about before. You're right, they were Sith and they had it coming. It's just the way it was done that didn't sit well with me."

"This whole affair isn't sitting well with _me_, Carth. Getting shot down from the orbit into a Sith occupied territory is not my idea of a good time. Searching for a lost Jedi in mutant infested urban wasteland is even less inviting."

"Let's hope we can find her quickly then."

"Something tells me it isn't going to be that easy," Vren indicated an armoured personnel carrier, heading their way.

They quickly turned in the opposite direction, walking away as quickly as they could without arousing suspicion. The booming engines of the large speeder seemed to be the only sound in their ears, each step so slow against the approaching sound.

"You there!"

Carth and Vren both froze as the armoured speeder came to a smooth halt, an officer calling to them from the open hatch on the top of the vehicle. They turned slowly, Carth's hand tightening around his rifle.

"What are you doing out of an established patrol routes? Are you Captain Gervik's men?"

The vehicle's gas searchlight bore down heavily on them, almost blinding. Vren took a deep, calming breath before replying.

"No, Sir! We are on our way to a Lower City patrol route."

"Just the two of you?" the officer asked sceptically. "That's not a standard practice for a level two security zone. Unit and rank, soldiers!"

"Lance-Corporal Horana and Rifleman Nakiyo, Sir! The rest of our detachment got called back to Padismes South for some sort of emergency," Vren thought quickly.

"Oh, they must be calling back additional troops to secure the crime scene. Nasty," the officer shook his head. "The whole apartment of off-duty troopers got slaughtered last night. The Colonel's put the base on general alert and sent out reserve reinforcements to all level two security patrols and checkpoints. We might have an uprising on our hands, on top of all the hassle with Republic fugitives. All redundant personnel is to report to base for staff assignment restructuring. Didn't they tell you about all this?"

"No, Sir, we did not know that," Vren allowed distress to color his voice. "We have been on patrol the whole night, and have just gotten back to HQ when we were sent right back out."

"You're pulling double shifts, huh?"

"Yes, Sir. Might I ask if this attack occurred unexpectedly, Sir?" Vren asked, feigning avid curiosity.

Carth grit his teeth inside his helmet, silently cursing Vren's big mouth. The officer looked them over momentarily, frowning.

"Yeah, they must have taken them by surprise. Who would have figured this could happen in the prestigious Upper City neighbourhood! The dirty bastards even stole a batch of uniforms they were apparently keeping in the apartment. I'm always telling these new conscripts to lock up their uniforms at the base when they get off duty, but do they listen? Noo, and then we get a freighterload of crap like this!"

"But who could do such a terrible thing, Sir?" Vren's tone carried nothing but bewilderment and disgust.

The officer's eyes grew distant for a moment, his voice lowering.

"I don't know, soldier, I don't know. But you can count on one thing: They'll pay, whoever did this!"

His eyes refocused on them, sharply.

"Well, you shan't get that rest anytime soon. We're going on a cleaning job and we're desperately short of men. Get in, I'm adding you to my team."

Carth and Vren exchanged quick glances under their visors.

"Sir," Vren began with growing unease. "We have direct orders to proceed to the Lower City and report to the Warrant Officer on duty in complex sixteen-through-seventy-six."

"Well your orders just changed. Just tell him to talk to Captain Frelok if he gives you any trouble."

The back door in the speeder opened, revealing two rows of Sith troopers lined on each bench in the cramped space. Carth was about to level his rifle at the Captain, but Vren grabbed his arm, shaking his head subtly. They walked into the speeder stiffly, where they settled into empty seats at the front of the vehicle, near the driver. Frelok came down from the upper hatch as the speeder rumbled into motion, taking a seat next to them.

"Which company did you say you were from, men?"

"Our patrol group has been assembled from various units, Sir, because there wasn't enough free troopers on the shift reserve."

The Captain nodded in silent understanding.

"Really? I could swear there was at least a full company on reserve duty when we left this morning. Who's your assignment officer?"

There was an uneasy pause, during which Vren's hands inched to the rifle by his side.

"2nd Lieutenant Bronson, Sir," Carth blurted out quickly, earning a surprised glance from Vren.

Captain scratched his chin, making a sour face.

"I guess you wouldn't know, then. He's one of those that got killed in the sector eight-eight-seven-three yesterday. There's been a couple of higher ranking officers in that apartment too, the whole thing made a mess from the schedule and command chain hierarchy. And we're already understaffed as it is."

Vren made a mental note of that fact.

"We were hoping we would finally get some reinforcements to relieve us of these killer double shifts, Sir."

"They've requested reinforcements from the 13-f and 25-b grid bases, but they've got their own hands full. Colonel keeps sending out patrols to look for that Bastila bitch, and we've lost countless men in the Undercity already. You should count yourself lucky for getting the easy upper levels duty. You wouldn't believe some of the horror stories I hear from the Undercity SD teams," pausing, he looked over his men briefly, before turning back to them. "No, we'll be lucky if we get any new detachments by the end of the month."

The speeder shook slightly as it turned into a lower level traffic lane, the engine shifting into higher gear. The next fifteen or so minutes were spent in awkward silence, at least for Carth and Vren. A brief laughter interrupted the trip from time to time as the troopers talked amongst themselves, the Captain quickly prompting them into silence.

"Sir, we've reached the Lower City checkpoint," the driver announced as the speeder slowed down.

The Captain climbed back up to the hatch to handle things with checkpoint security. Vren glanced at Carth; the proximity of other Sith troopers prevented them from speaking for fear of giving themselves away. Carth just shook his head, looking down. Vren could tell he was concerned about their current predicament. Probably worried if they would get out of it alive. He had to admit, though, this time he shared Carth's concern.

XXX

_"Holdan, we didn't expect you to drop by,"_ one of the Warper gang thugs said nervously, everyone immediately on edge.

"Sit down," Holdan pointed with his blaster, a clear enough gesture as to the nature of this visit. Behind him, Canderous secured the entrance with his large body, unslinging the heavy blaster from his back as he scanned the room. Apart from the various crates packed in one corner, the dark hall had a broken-down bar at one end and a large loading bay at another, a large table covered in credit chips and strips of Paazak cards sat next to the offices stairway, half-empty glasses and cigarillos before each its occupant. Who were as varied as one could expect from a Lower City dingy warehouse: From human to Rodian, Aqualish and Twi'lek, there was even a Trandoshan sitting at the table.

Most notable, however, were the Twi'lek girl a lovely shade of blue, with what appeared to be her bodyguard, a towering Wookiee. They were standing a bit to the side, obviously engaged in an argument with the gang leaders before they were interrupted. Canderous could only guess as to the nature of these two's presence here, most likely street crawlers, selling information to the gang for a couple of credits.

"Leave, kid. This doesn't concern you," Canderous said simply, glancing briefly at the Twi'lek girl.

She placed her hands on her hips angrily, her voice firm.

"Wait a minute, we haven't been paid yet! I don't care what your business with them is, but we're not leaving until Groshef pays us the credits he promised!"

Holdan groaned in annoyance, pointing a blaster pistol at her head.

"Then you'll just die with them, you stupid bitch."

The Wookiee roared and stepped threateningly forward, causing him to take a step back in sudden fear. Canderous brought his heavy weapon up with a soft click of pre-charger, training the weapon at the large alien wordlessly. The Wookiee roared again frighteningly, but possessed enough sense to stop his advance. Holdan pointed his blaster back up again, this time at the Wookiee, whom he still regarded with great wariness.

A faint flicker of fear passed over the Twi'lek's face, quickly dissolving into a dark scowl. Everyone in the room stared breathlessly as the Wookiee verbally released his anger, a terrifying sight indeed.

Only a Mandalorian would have the nerve to face down an angry Wookiee with the calm Canderous just presented. The air shivered with tension as they stood unmovingly for a few moments, deep growl rumbling in the depths of Wookiee's chest with Mandalorian's heavy blaster aimed for his head unwaveringly.

"Come on, Big Z, it's not worth it," the small Twi'lek tugged at his arm, glancing at the weapons trained at them with surprising lack of fear.

Instead, there was a sort of distressed anger flaming in her eyes.

"We don't want any trouble with Davik," she assured. "We'll just go and nobody gets hurt, okay?"

Canderous' and Holdan's weapons were still trained on them as she practically dragged the glaring Wookiee out the door.

"Smart choice," Canderous offered off-handedly as they passed him by.

She offered a quick glare, but said nothing.

"Would you believe the nerve of some people?" Holdan exclaimed as the strange pair left, letting his blaster drop to his side. "Speaking of nerve…"

He turned to the gathered gang leaders, who were just staring at the exchange with no small amount of trepidation all this time. He holstered his blaster, striding over confidently with a dark gleam in his eye. His confidence mostly driving from the Mandalorian behind him and his weapon, which was now pointed in the general direction of the table, his eyes daring anyone to pull a blaster out.

Holdan stopped at the loaded table, eyeing the credits and Paazak cards scattered haphazardly over it. A small container of raw spice was staring from the mess here and there.

"It has come to Mr. Kang's attention that you shitheads have been doing some trading on the side. This worries Mr. Kang a lot."

He walked around the table slowly, making sure to slap the back of a frightened head from time to time. Canderous noticed all eyes uncertainly flickering to one particular figure constantly; a Trandoshan, clad in an expensive Bothan armour suit. He was the only one whose demeanor didn't leak fear blatantly, calm inhuman eyes glued to Canderous.

"Did you really think you could get away with stealing from Mr. Kang and he wouldn't notice?" Holdan kept yelling dramatically, stopping to pull his blaster out again.

_"But we didn't steal-"_

The Twi'lek's words were abruptly cut as Holdan jumped him, swinging his pistol. He punched the alien out of his chair, repeatedly bashing him with the blaster handle as he screamed obscenities.

"Say that again, core-slime, say it again! I dare you to say it again, asshole!"

Everyone stirred at Holdan's sudden eruption, but remained seated out of fear of Mandalorian. The Trandoshan let out a low hiss, sharp teeth glinting in his lizard-like face. Dishevelled Holdan finally stood up, wiping a faint splatter of blood from his face.

"By not giving Mr. Kang his share, you have all stolen from him. You disrespected him by trying to run a business without his approval. He doesn't like thieves, and neither do I!"

He kicked another gang member from his seat, sending him scraping before Canderous' feet. A swift boot to the face from the Mandalorian sent him into unconsciousness. Holdan continued with his diatribe, now having everyone severely terrified.

"There's only two things I want to know before I make an example out of you: Who's your off-world contact, and where are you keeping your stash!"

One of Trandoshan's hands was slowly edging toward the end of the table all this time, and was now resting lightly on his raised thigh, only centimeters from the blaster strapped to it. Canderous met his eyes for a second, and in that moment they both knew the other knew. His mouth twisted in a death-grin of anticipation, his body steeling for the backlash of his large weapon.

Trandoshan's fingers curled around the handle of his blaster, their eyes still locked.

But neither got the chance to fire their respective weapons as the doors abruptly exploded inward with a slight delay, thick durasteel resisting the rapidly expanding gas. Bright light flooded the room, coupled with surprised screams. By that time neither Canderous nor Trandoshan were where they used to be a moment ago. Right after the initial blast receded, another pair of explosions blinded the room, in form of successive flash bangs that temporarily dazed the occupants.

The yelled orders over the haze and stomping of many boots served to further disorient the Warpers, with everyone pulling their weapons and shooting blindly. But only two of room's occupants had their targets sharp in their vision. Both Canderous and the Trandoshan had the sense and reactive speed to shield their eyes before the flash grenades were thrown in. Canderous' heavy repeater was now cutting down gang members, yet still missing its agile target. He took mild care not to intentionally hit confused Holdan, who has thrown himself to the floor, expression locked in blind fear. The majority of the Warpers were now stumbling across each other, many taking hits from blind discharge of their comrades' weapons.

The Trandoshan was jumping from obstacle to obstacle, firing off precise shots in Canderous' direction as he took cover behind the crates and even his disoriented gang comrades. Even more blasts penetrated the hazy air, emerging from the warehouse corridor where clustered silhouettes lingered. Canderous leveled the obstacles in his line of view, cutting down people and containers alike as powerfully charged bolts traced a black line across the walls. Unpreturbed by the screeching blasts of the supersonic weaponry, he took the chaos around him with a sort of anxious resignation. After all, it was hardly what one could call a challenge for a Mandalorian.

As the first smoke-obscured figures began pouring into the hall with their own death sprays, spreading the cloud of fright, the Trandoshan was already sprinting toward the energy transformer cabinets in the back of the building. Canderous scrambled after him, pausing his rapid volleys only to pull Holdan roughly to his feet. The Trandoshan discharged his blaster madly as he retreated, hoping to catch the Mandalorian and any pursuers in a random shower of blaster bolts. Canderous threw himself behind a small vat, pulling hysterical Holdan along to the safety.

"It's the Sith!" the man screamed in his ear, in a way that made him consider shoving him back in the line of fire and blame his death on the Warpers later.

Canderous' narrowed eyes darted to the entrance quickly; shining black and silver uniforms were spreading from it like Rodian Blood Flies into the room, dealing death and devastation. The remaining gang members would only distract them for so long, and their cover turning into a deathtrap was only a matter of moments.

The Warpers regained a semblance of their sight by now, concentrating their efforts on the Sith after realizing they were fighting for their lives.

Canderous peered over the edge of the large vat, a shot sizzling the metal container dangerously close to his head. Jolting back to the safety of the cover, he took a deep breath, checking his powerpack levels. Abruptly, he rushed from behind the cover, running as he sprayed scorching death. The Trandoshan was forced back into the defensive, disappearing behind a transformer cabinet. Holdan almost crashed into Canderous' back as he ran after him, bolts from the advancing Sith striking uncomfortably close.

"Get in that loading bay," Canderous nodded toward a crate-filled area, his hand reaching for his belt.

As mortified Holdan scrambled away amidst blaster barrage, Canderous pulled a fragmentation grenade from his belt, armed it with a flick of his thumb and tossed it carelessly behind him. He could hear muted screams of "Grenade!" as he threw himself behind a stack of crates after Holdan. Deafening explosion shockwave rippled the air with a flash of scorching gas and deadly shrapnel. Unpreturbed, Canderous quickly pulled himself up again, simultaneously opening fire on the Trandoshan's cover again and glancing briefly at his companion from the corner of his eye. The frightened man was randomly firing his blaster in the direction of where the shots were coming from, providing a vague suppressive fire at least.

The Trandoshan backpedalled, a bolt absorbed by his armour that would have otherwise been fatal, sending him stumbling backwards. With surprising agility, he rolled into the cover of the loading bot control consoles, shower of blasts charring the massive cabinets with eruptions of sparks. Hissing madly, the Trandoshan fired off a few more shots before finally throwing himself into a ventilation system emergency purge, his back grazed by one of Canderous' blasts.

The Mandalorian swore silently, doubly so as a squad of Sith troopers poured from behind the durasteel protective screen in the next moment, guns blazing. He redirected his gunsight at the entranceway, mowing down the first group of Sith troopers that gushed through.

A few of them holed themselves up in the offices that lined the warehouse, large windows now broken and giving them a good view on the defiant pair below. It was obvious they were loathe to use explosives in such constricted area, and settled for covering their position with rain of blaster fire. Canderous, on the ohter hand, had no such inhibitions, and was already unclipping another frag grenade from his belt.

"Get that loading bot between us and the Sith!" he screamed over to Holdan, already thumbing the grenade timer switch.

Flinching every time a blaster bolt wheezed by and constantly spewing curses, Holdan nevertheless managed to hoist himself over to still smoking bot command console, where Trandoshan was only a minute or so ago. Canderous tossed the grenade toward the edge of the bay, and watched the Sith troopers scatter like frightened Tachs. In the same moment that the deafening blast sounded, the massive body of the loading arm glided in front of him on its rails and obstructed his view, most likely saving him from the brunt of the blast as well.

The explosion caught the stairway in its radius, collapsing it along with a good portion of the office walkways above, sending Sith that were on them at the time plummeting down. As he reloaded his weapon in the brief respite that followed the explosion, Canderous spotted the lever of the maintenance tunnel hatch just a little further from his position. Allowing himself a small smile, he gestured to Holdan his intentions, springing from his shelter to throw himself through the blaster rain into the inset rails of the loading bot where Holdan was already waiting, struggling to move the lever.

Only then did Canderous realize that the outer side of his right thigh was scorched and deeply gashed with fresh blood trickling out, pain nothing more than a distant echo in the rage of his combat focus. That last blast must have not missed him completely. Slightly annoyed, he pushed Holdan out of the way and pulled down the lever with seeming ease. The heavy hatch screeched open slowly, covered in grime of disuse. Canderous practically threw Holdan into the dark tunnel, squeezing himself right behind him, but not before firing off a couple more shots at the enclosing Sith.

A loud flash erupted behind them, with accompanying explosion echoing shrilly in the narrow tunnel. The Sith weren't going to chase after them, so they just threw a frag grenade in and closed the hatch. Fortunately, they were already far beyond the blast zone when it detonated.

As they ran blindly through the narrow and low passageway of the maintenance tunnel, pain from his leg only adding adrenaline to the excitement he had learned to control and sharpen during the years, Canderous smiled euphorically – this was the best he had felt in months.

After the explosions died down along with blaster discharges, a grim silence of the aftermath settled on the smoky and abused battlefield. Sith troopers hovered over the still warm bodies likes carrion birds, faceless masks surveying the area for any hint of movement.

"Everyone drop your weapons and surrender, this is a raid!" the Sith Captain called out, his attention stopping abruptly on a Warper that has miraculously managed to survive the slaughter and was now cowering in a loading ramp, bleeding.

"Corporal Hicks! Why is that man still alive?"

The Corporal in question quickly amended the situation, firing a short volley into the man until he was positively dead.

"Well," the Captain picked up, satisfied, "It looks like all the offenders were accidentally killed in the initial skirmish."

He made an indifferent sound, heading over to the overturned table, trampling over half-melted credit chips.

"Private Griss, organize a small group to recover whatever useful credit chips and electronics from this jumble here."

Private Griss saluted, quickly taking to his task as Captain turned to somewhat lost-looking Vren and Carth.

"Lance-Corporal Horana, take six men and search this building for any illegal contraband that needs to be confiscated."

It took a moment for Vren to realize the Captain was speaking to him. He saluted awkwardly, mumbling out something unintelligible. He took Carth and five other men, leading them through the back to the loading bay and storage rooms.

The Captain took in the scene with a stonecast expression, looking around the wrecked room tentatively. Then he called one of his men over, instructing him in low voice as the others scoured the room around them for anything useful.

"Rinis, get in touch with our man and let him know another shipment's on the way. Probably the last one for some time, at least until this whole situation clears up."

The trooper just nodded, quickly disappearing in the darkened entranceway.

Up ahead in the storage and loading area of the warehouse, five Sith troopers were searching the crates and tanks systematically, while Vren and Carth stood off to the side, pretending to supervise the search.

"I have to say, this is easier than I thought," Vren commented, keeping a close eye on the nearby Sith.

"Are you crazy? We've been lucky so far, but our luck ran out the moment we stepped into that speeder. It's a miracle we're still alive, and no thanks to your constant provocation!"

"Relax, Carth. Things are progressing just fine."

"Relax?" Carth was dumbstruck. "How can you tell me to relax when there's a platoon of Sith troopers out there, who are only _this_ close to realizing our suits don't have IFF's, and then we're screwed!"

Vren looked at him, dark surface of his visor reflecting nothingness.

"That is why we shan't stay here long enough for them to find out," he spied a glance about. "We are already in the Lower City, all we have to do is get rid of our escort."

Carth shouldered his blaster rifle, exhaling heavily.

"I say we make a run for it before they figure out we're not who we say we are."

They fell quiet abruptly as one of the Sith troopers approached.

"Sir, we found the cargo," he reported.

Vren and Carth exchanged looks, following the soldier into one of the storage compartments. The small area was packed with crates and cargo cylinders, most of them opened to reveal raw spice and electronics in protective foam within. A pair of heavy durasteel crates stood out among the plasteel ones, complete with electronic locks that were just being disabled by one of the troopers that were miling about.

"Very good," Vren murmured to the soldier that lead them in, looking around the displayed wares curiously. "What is all this?"

"Cruiser battery guidance systems," Carth said as he raked through the assorted foam-encased packages idly. "And…something."

He studied with confusion the flat metallic cylinder he was holding up.

"Put that down!"

He was startled into almost dropping the object at the Captain's exclamation, who was standing in the doorway, his brow creased in a dark frown.

"Put it down," he repeated in a more collected manner, yet still bleeding nervousness.

Carth returned the cylinder back into its slot in the durasteel crate, where many more were lined neatly in metal racks. The Sith Captain couldn't completely hide his relief as the crate's cover plopped closed, swallowing thickly. He looked around, appraising the crates and cargo cylinders in the room.

"Alright," he said, his voice returning to its previous commanding tone. "I'm confiscating the contents of this warehouse. Load it up in the APC!"

He sweeped around with his hand, indicating the cargo. The troopers quickly set to carrying out the task, establishing an efficient convoy through the main warehouse area and hallways to the armoured speeder waiting outside.

"You two," Captain pointed to Vren and Carth unnervingly. "Stay here and guard the area."

Then he turned and instructed to the nearest of his men.

"Someone take the casualties back to the transport. It wouldn't do to leave our dead here. And make it quick, we don't have all night!"

The soldier that went out earlier returned, relaying something to the Captain discretely. The Captain looked at him surprised, then adopted an exasperated expression, turning to the working troopers.

"Alright men, listen up!" everyone stopped with their task, putting down their loads to wait for his command. "We've got to make a positive ID on the death of a certain individual. A Trandoshan, shouldn't be hard to find, I need his body, confirmed and bagged. Organize a small group to search for the body, I want the others to keep moving those crates! Get to it!"

"Now's our chance," Carth whispered urgently. "We can slip out in the crowd, nobody'll notice!"

Vren looked around at the busy soldiers, nodding quickly.

"Let's go!"

They barely made it to the main area of the warehouse, looking as casual as possible, before the Captain's stern voice stopped them.

"Hey! I thought I told you two to guard the storage area!" he was standing on one of the office walkways above, studying some datapad or other as he surveyed the area. "Get back in there and don't let me catch you out here again before the area's been cleared!

They reluctantly made their way back, not failing to notice the impatient warning in his voice. In that moment, Vren seriously considered just putting a bolt in the man and then making a run for it. They probably wouldn't make it, but it would be worth it for the look on Captain's face as his brains splattered out.

Clearing his head of such distracting thoughts, Vren rather directed it into more productive efforts of an alternative plan for their escape.

Ultimately, they could just wait out for the troopers to load the contraband and then be dropped off in the Lower City to return to their duties.

Or so they thought.

Because when the last crate was cleared and the warehouse welded closed with the seal of provisional Sith government, Carth almost breathed a sigh of relief. Vren, however, had this ominous feeling at the back of his mind, strange premonition telling him things weren't about to get any easier.

It was confirmed as they boarded back in the APC, Vren carefully phrasing his question as he tried to sound as casual as he could.

"Where shall you drop us off then, before you return to the Upper City?"

Captain looked at him in mild irritation as the large speeder slid into motion, still upset that they didn't recover the Trandoshan's body.

"Drop you off? Well yes, when we're finished here."

"But," Vren began slowly, trying to keep hostility out of his voice. "Aren't you going back to the upper tier to return to the base?"

"Oh, but we're not going back to the base. Since you're new here, I suggest you just sit back and keep quiet. Just concern yourself with staying vigilant and keeping watch for hostiles, men, beacuse nothing else concerns you."

Vren and Carth exchanged alarmed looks.

"Sir?"

The Captain leaned back in his seat with an air of satisfaction, explaining off-handedly.

"Just one more little stop and we'll drop you off to your post."

"Sir, I really must protest-"

"That's enough, soldier! You'll get to your assignment when I say you do, clear? We've got more priority assignments on our hands than patrol duty!"

Vren kept quiet at Captain's agitated tone, clenching his teeth together silently. This man was really beginning to get on his nerves. He switched on the safety on the blaster rifle in his lap, so as to reduce the temptation to paint the speeder walls crimson with his brain matter.

"Looks like we won't get to that post as quickly as we planned," Carth said tersely, his visor hiding any sour expression he might have worn.

XXX

"Master Dorak!"

The elderly Master stopped his light gait and turned to the voice. The young Jedi was only slightly out of breath as she ran to catch up with him.

"May I have a word?"

"Certainly, I am always ready to assist the learners in any way. Especially someone in the kind of distress you seem to be in," he quirked his eyebrows slightly, the weight of her emotions not escaping him.

The woman paused, collecting her composure.

"Forgive me. The recent events have thrown my steady progress off course," her voice was tense, controlled.

Master Dorak nodded slowly, one hand going to his chin as he observed her. The fear, the confusion, even anger were evident as a storm cloud around her. She suppressed it well for other students at the academy, allowing only rarely for it to shine through a crack in her hardened surface. But Master Dorak was not easily fooled, and neither were the rest of the Council Masters.

"How may I be of assistance?" he asked innocently, knowing exactly what she would ask.

"Master, I was wondering…the unfortunate matter with Juhani."

She swallowed a little too noticeably, Master Dorak giving a knowing nod.

"Yes, most troubling, I imagine."

"Master, I have already spoken to Master Vandar and Master Zhar. I suggested that they allow me to try and bring Juhani back to the path of Light, but they denied my request. I know her, Master, I know her well! She isn't like that, not really! If only I was given this chance, I _know_ I could help her."

Master Dorak gave a slow sigh

"No, Padawan. You are close to her, but you do not _know_ her. The darkness you speak of is present in all of us. To ignore it would be not only foolish, but downright dangerous."

"But…what are the Masters planning to do about this? Surely she can't be left to herself in the state she is in?"

Dorak scoffed, continuing as if she hadn't interrupted.

"To accept it, yes, but never allowing it to take a hold of us. History teaches us that all the sorrow and pain has come from underestimating the Dark Side, Padawan."

Belaya sat down next to him, folding her hands in her lap helplessly.

"If anyone can reach her, it's me, Master."

"Reach her, yes. But what comes then? The emotional bond between you would bring more harm than it possibly could good. To become so attached in the first place, is what brought this drapery over your judgement."

Belaya looked down, her voice halting and subtly accusing.

"A mistake."

"No, not a mistake. A necessary obstacle on your path. You must face your darkness, just as Juhani must face hers."

"So you will not speak to other Masters on my behalf?"

Dorak paused, knowing that she will not understand the necessity of the Council's actions, let alone see the wisdom in their intentions.

"Juhani is in a very delicate state," he began slowly. "To force things now, would be disastrous."

"I…understand," she looked away, her hands clenching in her lap.

"The Force works subtly, Padawan. Like the evermelting glacier, it slides and pulls everything with it in ways unimaginable. In ways that can often be seen only through the eyes of time. That is the bane of those who are blind to the history and are unaware of the lessons it may offer; they are bound to repeat it."

"But, the Council is considering accepting her back into the Order should she repent and recognize her mistakes?" she asked cautiously.

Dorak smiled faintly.

"If she returns to the Order, the Order will accept her. But there is much for her to overcome, and learn yet. Padawan Juhani has seriously wounded Master Quatra as she gave in to the darkness inside her. She must first come into terms with herself, if she is to be helped. She must repeat that which ever cycles in her own segment of time, for the lesson to truly have effect."

"Is Master Quatra any better?"

"Yes, she is recovering nicely," he noticed the look in her eyes. "Don't worry about her, she doesn't hold it against her. She understands that what happened was necessary."

"Necessary?" Belaya almost snapped. "Forgive me, Master. I didn't mean to be rude. I can't help but feel this is all partly my fault, because of my attachment to her…"

"Don't be so quick to embrace the comforts of guilt," Dorak warned. "It is unsuitable for a Jedi. You have done what you could for Juhani, now it is up to her to overcome this."

Belaya looked up, her eyes misty.

"Yes, Master," she kept her voice carefully flat.

Master Dorak nodded with a soft grunt, getting up to resume his daily business. As his figure slowly distanced in the soft light of the approaching dusk, Belaya stared out to the orange sky. Sun was sending last day's rays over the enclave walls, spilling the warm glow over the calm garden like a blanket of peace. Birds chirped lazily above with the land cooling slowly as it sank into its sleep. Rust-coloured grass stalks rustled and wafted gently in the warm evening wind that ruffled her hair and caressed her skin.

Belaya stared out, but she saw none of it.


	4. Prowling the Sublevels

Chapter IV: Prowling the Sublevels

"Yes, I understand. I will see it done best to my power."

With those words, Jedi Knight Navash Orai terminated the subspace holotransmission. The room he was in was one of the smaller communications and sensor chambers in the Jedi Enclave on Dantooine. The Enclave had a number of such redundant centres that would come online and could be used as a coordination headquarters in times of crisis. As it was, many occupants of the Enclave used these rooms, which were only accessible to higher ranking Jedi Masters and Knights, to browse the Academy's vast library network and make secure intergalactic calls in private.

The dim illumination died down into darkness as Knight Navash left the room, the door automatically locking and sealing the area behind him. As he headed towards the stairs that led to the Enclave ground level, he paused as to not run into another Jedi that was just around the corner. A Padawan, judging by his robes and Force signature.

The Padawan looked up startled as he almost ran into waiting Navash, at least collecting himself enough to manage a surprised greeting.

"Ah, there you are, Knight Orai."

"May I help you, Padawan?"

The young Padawan nodded quickly, eager to deliver his message.

"Yes, Master Zhar is awaiting you in the north gardens."

Navash paused to study the boy's face.

"Nothing urgent, I hope?"

"I wouldn't know, Knight. I...I don't think so," he offered helpfully.

Navash nodded to himself slowly, and then to the Padawan, dismissing him. Making his way through the cool hallways of the Enclave, he allowed his thoughts to linger on the soothing atmosphere that permeated the Enclave, smoothly masking the darkness hovering just outside its walls. Its peaceful feel, the entire planet's serene aura was so refreshingly different from the hectic environment of the Coruscant Jedi Temple. It was still tranquil when compared to Senatorial District, or the Galactic Senate itself, but nowhere near the soothing calm that permeated this Enclave.

Lately, especially since the news of Revan's death, the political climate had been growing sharper on Coruscant, much more tense and subtle in its secret corrosion. The various fractions and political camps within the Senate seemed to bicker on daily basis almost as much as they did against the oncoming threat of the Sith, with most of expectations falling on the Order to thwart this new darkness.

The Order, which was, unsurprisingly, reluctant to settle into overly decisive course of action, the ripples of Revan's schism still felt along the Jedi Temples and Enclaves. _Darth_ Revan's schism, Navash mentally corrected himself as he ascended the stairs to ground level, for it was not prudent to think of him and Malak as Jedi anymore. No, they were so far from Light that he doubted redemption would ever be possible, if it weren't so incredibly improbable. And quite impossible now for Darth Revan.

This line of thought brought back memories of his former teacher, who was even now waiting for his presence, and how he would always emphasize that redemption and fall are two paths only a step apart. The train of thought that inevitably lead to other, more disturbing philosophical exercises. At least they always did so in the past.

Dark thoughts, dark thoughts indeed, and nothing he wanted his former Master to catch a glimpse of.

Control. Peace. Serenity.

With this kind of voidness, Navash emerged into the moderately overcast afternoon, blinking about the tranquil inner sanctum. His steps echoed dully on the neatly sweeped pathways, winding through the courtyard and into the outer gardens, past scarce Jedi and settlers strolling about the park, and finally back into the Enclave walls, almost on the other side of the grounds. North gardens were even more devoid of people, occasional Jedi sitting on a bench near the path or deeper into the dry greenery, lost in deep thought.

Navash spotted Master Zhar near one of the great inner ground trees, pacing about the small alcove slowly. One of his random glances around met Navash's gaze, and held it momentarily, before his face stretched into a warm smile. Nothing too emotional, merely a gesture of politeness and some unspoken past, something Navash grew accustomed to long time ago.

"Master Zhar," he spoke emotionlessly, his steps quickening to meet him. "You asked to see me?"

"Yes, I did. You found our facilities to be adequately private?"

"Yes, yes, thank you."

A moment of silence and silent appraisals, before Zhar spoke again, his tone neutral.

"I thought we would discuss the real reason why you are here."

Navash snapped his head into a sharp stare, smallest glimpse of surprise flashing over his collected expression.

"The real reason?" he said slowly, as if buying time to formulate something in his thoughts.

Zhar gave a small knowing smile, indicating the bench at the side of the walkway, nicely covered by the shade of a large tree.

Silence continued for a few more moments, until Zhar broke it with a seemingly casual remark.

"How is Master Rawi back on Coruscant?"

Navash's answer was in equally casual tone.

"Quite well, I imagine. I haven't really spoken with him since the irregular conferences of the Great Council began. He _is_ a busy man, Master."

"He is still working with the Senate Jedi relations group?"

"Yes. He is heading it now, since Master Tun's unfortunate demise," he paused, as if deciding what to say next and how. "He has taken me under his wing since the Sith insurrection began. I have learned much about diplomacy under Master Rawi, in his consular group."

Zhar acknowledged this with a slow nod and soft exhale, looking around the garden in seeming absence.

"It is challenging work, in the Senate. Much more than I expected. Not that such things would involve me emotionally," Navash added quickly at the realization of enthusiasm present in his own voice.

"No, naturally," Zhar's response was casual as he studied his former student's face.

He shifted his position so he was half-facing Navash, clasping his hands together before him pensively.

"Rawi Lataran is a good…colleague of mine," the breaking pause in his speech did not escape Navash. "He is very dedicated to the Order's cause, and a rational sentient. But he has a small problem in distancing himself from the secular affairs of the Republic politics."

"I politely disagree, Master. Some degree of involvement is necessary, especially in such troubling times. I'm sure Master Rawi wants only the best for the Order."

"I'm sure he does. Because the best for the Order does not always mean the best for the Republic, and the latter often means the worst for both."

Navash's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Would that mean that you have concerns about his ideological direction, Master?"

"I always have concerns for the Order, Navash," Zhar gave him a steady look. "As recent events show, it is rarely unfounded."

"Yes," Navash glanced at a passing Jedi briefly. "The Dark Side lurks in us all, always."

"And no one is beyond its reach," Zhar supplemented pointedly. "It is easy to slowly slip into it when one does not keep this simple notion always in mind."

Another unsettling silence followed, until Navash finally broke it with a loud exhale.

"Master, I know you believe I am here on Master Rawi's behest, but I am here on official task for the Coruscant Council. I only act as an intermediary."

"And if you were here on Master Rawi's behest, would that not be a duty, seeing as how you are under his command and guidance at present?"

Navash was embarrassed slightly, despite the lighthearted tone of his former Master's voice.

"Yes, you are correct of course," he said abashed. "Forgive my hasty assumptions, Master Zhar. But may I ask plainly; what would you have of me?"

Zhar shifted his position so he was leaning slightly back in the bench, his back straightened and his arms crossed.

"Tell me, Navash, is Master Rawi still in such good relations with the Republic security?"

Navash did not miss the subtone; he was well aware where Zhar was aiming.

"Yes, well he must be, Master. The consular group has to maintain good relations with the Senate governing body, as well as the security agencies that extend from this body, if we are to mediate properly. RID and RIS are only a fraction of this multilaterality between the Order and the Republic."

Zhar nodded with an off-handed grunt, his attention seemingly in the cloudy distance.

"Yes, Republic Intelligence Department is a necessary part of the Republic political machinery. But I hope you realize that they will all look for what is best for the Republic, always. The Senators may have the political and military network necessary to rule such a great celestial confederacy, but they lack the wisdom of Jedi, especially in these troubled times."

Navash smiled sheepishly.

"Master, I'm afraid I am not the right person to be having this discussion with. I only came here to coordinate the Academy efforts with the Coruscant Temple and assure the steady progress of the Academy students."

"The reason I am telling you this, is because I know of the Senate's urges to action, and am well aware of the pressure the High Council is under. And we both know what the consequences of premature and unthought of action can be," he finished pointedly, eliciting a slow nod from Navash.

"Yes, I see what you mean. But still, we cannot abandon the Republic in this dire circumstance, even more so as the threat of the Sith is as great, if not greater for us too."

Zhar paused to look at Navash carefully.

"Of course not. Yet, we must also be careful to not allow the political instrife of the Republic to pull the Order from its neutral status. For the reasons of which you should be well aware of by now."

Navash already opened his mouth to say something, but Zhar interjected quickly, a hint of firmness detectable in his voice.

"You will find no dissenters from the High Council policy here, Knight Navash. We must stand strong against the face of this adversity, and any dividing currents."

Navash smiled politely, nevertheless not meeting Zhar's eyes.

"I am glad, Master Zhar. I expected to find none."

Despite the relatively nice weather, one couldn't help but feel the pleasant afternoon was spoiled with a sense of sublime bitterness. Navash frowned with a sudden thought entering his mind.

"Master Zhar, were you not working closely with the current RID Chief of Operations, when you were still back on Coruscant? Feri Cahir, yes, that's his name?"

"Yes, I did," Zhar seemed even more distant. "That is why I must caution you to keep the tenets of the Order always firmly in your mind."

The fact that Zhar said _he_ should be cautious, and not Master Rawi, who lead the consular group, spoke volumes.

"I," Navash paused, his tone coloured by uncertainty. "We don't really have much contact with lower officials, to be honest. I've only met Mr.Cahir once, since the Senate Jedi relations mostly work with department Head Managers."

"Any other, more Order-concerning news you are bringing with you?"

The sudden and off-topic question surprised Navash into momentary confusion, then he locked his mind into rigid lines of thought.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I am, Master Zhar. But that," he paused, bringing a hand to his chin in thought. "Is a matter for the evening Council meeting."

Zhar nodded slowly.

"Yes. Among other things."

Then they enjoyed the tranquility of the gardens, each lost in habitually self-controlled thoughts.

XXX

"You know what to do, I want no deviation from my orders."

Vren nodded tightly, saluting. Stay fresh and keep your mouth shut. He couldn't help but notice how he and Carth were in general receiving more of this unambiguous instruction, at least when compared to Captain Frelok's own men. Most likely he didn't trust random soldiers he just picked up on the street that much. As well as he shouldn't, Vren mused, seeing as how they weren't even Sith, let alone under his command.

The apartment complex they were currently in, marching in silence toward some undisclosed door, was quite luxurious by the Lower City standards. Actually, it was quite luxurious even by Upper City standards. Clean polished metal walls and floor, no sign of grime and dirt anywhere, with the general air of that certain high class permeating the building and, indeed the entire district. Shipton Lane it was called, and mostly inhabited by the kind of people that could easily compete with Upper City nobility in the amount of wealth they possessed, but none of it acquired legally.

The crude dichotomy was plainly obvious in occasional passer-by in combat armour and weapons shamelessly strapped to his persona, eyeing them derisively, or a pair of armed and less-than-sophisticated looking thugs standing vigilantly in front of an apartment door.

The more things change, the more they stay the same, Vren mused silently as they passsed a pair of Twi'leks in tacky, yet expensive paramilitary clothing, one of them scarred heavily, conversing in an accent normally reserved for lowlife gang members and Lower City hustlers. The pair stopped when they noticed them, staring at them like they were rakghouls, their hands resting not far from their holstered blasters. Must not get much visits from the Sith down here, then.

But then again, someone who could stay in a place like this most likely had the monetary means of keeping Sith patrols out of their territory.

They walked on.

As much as he despised having to take orders from his sworn enemy, some morbid part of him delighted in the chance to lull this fool into a sense of false security. So much more delicious will then the look of surprise on his face be, when Vren's blade severs it from his body.

The troupe stopped in front of an apartment door, bringing Vren from his daydreaming. Captain turned to his men briefly, even as a pair of them set the magnetic lockbreaker on the door.

"Alright, you all have your orders, keep to them and nothing will go wrong. Keep the formation standard, I want the apartment secured immediately, and not like what happened back in the warehouse!" he scowled stormily. "Only fire at hostiles armed and threatening, _nobody_ else!"

The troopers, including Carth and Vren, readied their rifles as the butterfly lockbreaker disabled the lock with a sharp whir and hiss, one of the troopers quickly removing it for another one to kick the door open.

The assembled Sith poured into the apartment hastily, flash of persons inside forming in dimmed warm light of the suite. Even as Vren and Carth passed through the thick doorway, shots were already fired. The apartment was huge, with cone-shaped foyeur melting into royally furnished common room, vista of endless swoop lanes and urban maze visible through the panoramic windows beyond. Some sentients were seated around the large armchairs in the main room, two of them immediately jumping to their feet and pulling blasters. They barely managed a few shots before they were cut down where they stood by the advancing Sith.

Troopers rushed through into the adjacent rooms, indiscriminately eliminating opposition as they came across it. Quick cries, interspersed by precise shots, blaster fire muffled by the thick walls and furniture. Clapping of boots on polished plasteel floor, then dulled by carpets, thuds of bodies in bursts of violence. Enforcers in mesh combat armour and wielding blaster weaponry rushed into the common room, protecting what was obviously the owner of the apartment; a dark human surrounded by female Twi'leks, all shocked and disoriented by the sudden disruption. The Sith took cover behind large pieces of furniture in momentary confrontation; a blaster bolt absorbed by a heavy armoire here, a line of scorched marks streaking through an armchair there.

More burned bodies of alien bodyguards fell under the relentless assault. Two more emerging from a side-room, straight into the path of blaster fire. The whole battle was over quickly, superior firepower and tactics riding on the element of surprise prevailing over the weaker opposition.

As the proverbial smoke cleared, Vren counted nine dead bodyguards altogether, and only one of the Sith was killed in the abrupt skirmish.

Vren noticed that all the bodyguards were Nikto and Aqualish, and sported rather similar ornamented armour. Hired gang members, or just mercenaries? If the man who was apparently the lord of the premises, seated in an opulent sofa amidst Twi'lek pleasure girls, was an ordinary gang leader, that could explain much. But then again, no swoop gang leader would be living in this district, like this, not to mention warrant the attention of the Sith in such a manner.

Which was, as Vren took in the still cooling corpses and Captain Frelok's nonchalant manner, another thing on the side of bizarre. Sith raids were common, but not in the syndicate apartments, and judging from the decor of this particular one, this man was no common enforcer. In either case, this wasn't an honest citizen's apartment, that much was certain.

Captain Frelok looked down at the twisted corpse of one of his men forlornly.

"Corporal Hicks. Killed by aliens, who would have thought it…"

"Those bastards!" one of the adjacent troopers added fervently, clutching at his weapon.

The Sith Captain's attention reverted back to the now apprehensive-looking individual in the back of the lavishly decorated room, surrounded by wide-eyed Twi'lek girls. A little more than slaves, and a little less than servants, as was plainly obvious by their clothing – the lack of it, that is.

"Well, where is it?" the Captain asked almost jovially as he approached.

The stylishly dressed man disentangled himself from the girls, glaring cold daggers at Frelok, a cluster of cold barrels aimed at him from behind Captain's stare.

"Where's what, Sith? I'm warning you, I'm not someone you want to get in trouble with."

The Captain rolled his eyes unconcernedly, giving a sigh of exasperation.

"Stop acting innocent and give it up already. I don't have all day, you know," at the other man's defiantly blank look, he pulled a blaster from his hip holster and casually shot him in the knee. "But, if you're going to play tough then it's fine by me."

The Twi'leks screamed in sudden fear as they reeled back, the man spewing curses as he squirmed on the floor. Carth had to physically restrain himself not to shoot the Sith officer in the back. Glancing about, he saw the other troopers seemed unaffected at the display before them, as if they were witnessing such events daily.

The Captain walked around the room, tipping over an occasional expensive vase or sculpture with a sort of sadistic satisfaction.

"The scanner log, Sandral, where is the scanner log?"

"I can have your job for this, you swine!" the dark man kept cursing as he shakily pulled himself up, supporting himself on the expensive-looking caffa table. "Nobody shoots _me,_ and gets away with it!"

The Captain stared at him with a bored, and not in the least intimidated expression, a notion which spoke volumes by itself.

"It's nothing exciting, I can tell you that. It's actually very tedious, especially when I have to deal with idiots under my command, irreverent alien scum and uncooperative people like you."

He sauntered over to the glaring man, the Twi'leks jumping out of his way in panic. The man pulled himself up defiantly, one bejewelled hand still holding on to an extravagant lamppost. In burst of sudden violence, Frelok struck him across the face with his blaster, sending him on the couch with a sharp cry of pain. Pinning him down with his knee, he then forced the barrel of his pistol into the alarmed man's mouth.

"You know bloody well what I want, Sandral, and I won't ask you for it again!"

The black man's eyes widened in fear and he held up defensive hands as he mumbled something unitelligible. Captain got off him, but still had the blaster aimed at his head meaningfully. The crimelord pulled hismelf into a sitting position, glaring into distance with indignant anger.

"You're _so_ going to regret this, Sith," he warned bitterly, but relented nonetheless. "It's in the safe behind the painting of the girl. The combination's 32569874."

Captain tore the indecent painting down, revealing the safe behind it.

"How predictable," he snorted as he entered the combination.

Inside the massive safety box was a solitary datapad, which he quickly grabbed and examined. After a few moments he stashed it into his belt, satisfied. All eyes were on him as he traversed the room once more. As he came back around to where his troopers were waiting, he motioned one of his men over, discretely handing him the datalog.

"You know where to take this. Rotok, escort him," he turned vaguely in Vren and Carth's direction. "And you two, go with them, in case there are more of his men spread out in the building."

Saluting, they did as told, and when they were on the doorstep they could hear the Captain's voice as he glanced back at the glaring Sandral and frightened Twi'leks, as if in an afterthought.

"Oh, kill them all," he ordered calmly.

The crimelord and his girls only had the chance to scream briefly as the volley of blaster fire mowed them down, shredding the expensive decor of the luxurious suite in the process. The shots echoed coldly through the sterile hallway, chilling in their finality. Carth just froze in paralyzed horror, and Vren leaned in, his whisper unheard over the weapon discharge.

"Is it just me, or is this kind of thing not included in the Captain's authority?"

Carth fought hard not to turn around, but his stillness drew the attention of the other two Sith that were with them. Vren tugged at his arm, hissing in hurriedly suppressed voice.

"Come on, Carth, keep moving. Remember Bastila. Just...keep...moving."

It took a great amount of willpower, and a mention of the urgency of their mission, to force Carth into a step away from that apartment. The following short walk to the stairwell was suffocating and thick with tension, emphasized so much more by the eerie silence. Only military boots, striking the shining floor in uneven cadence.

As the four soldiers stepped through the automatic staircase door, Vren moved ahead to walk along the trooper carrying the scanner log, leaving the other one to fall in line with Carth behind them.

"I say," Vren nudged Carth as they reached the first floor landing, but spoke outloud for all to hear. "Do you remember those protocols for dealing with hostiles in a _quiet_ manner? When the enemy can't be alerted to our presence?"

The duo of Frelok's men gave him a puzzled look. Carth was quiet for a short moment, then spoke up slowly, grim recognition dawning in his voice.

"Yeah...yeah, I remember."

Vren paused for another spiralling moment, before shouting out abruptly and erupting into motion.

"Let's practice!"

With that, he jumped the unsuspecting trooper next to him, twisting the weapon from his hands and locking his arm into an immobilizing grip. Simultaneously, Carth slammed the butt of his rifle into the helmet of the second soldier, before he could fully recover from his surprise, sending him tumbling down the stairs to slam against the wall.

Vren twisted the trooper's arm sharply, breaking the elbow joint. Carth rushed down the flight of steps, and delivered a few more wild blows to the disoriented trooper with his rifle. Vren sweeped his screeching opponent while still gripping his arm, landing him on his back roughly. Carth's strikes managed to dislocate the trooper's helmet, sending it tumbling onto cold floor as he held up his hands in futile defense. Vren's vibroblade cut through the resistance of the mesh on the downed man's armour, tip penetrating through and into the side of his neck. The other trooper had barely a chance to offer a frightened look, his hair disheveled and matted with sweat, before the butt of Carth's rifle mauled him to the ground. His head made a juicy crack, so different from dull thuds of the helmet.

Carth straightened again, looked up and found Vren already searching through a dead trooper's belt hurriedly. This prompted him to do the same, leaning back down to take some blaster powercells as he called out to Vren.

"Take that datalog!"

"Of course," Vren flashed the thick datalog briefly, pocketing it. "Now let's be off, before they realize what happened."

Carth just nodded tensely, following him in a light jog down the stairs to the back entrance.

XXX

Cold grey eyes lingered with a terse exhale before the accompanying voice spoke in subdued, yet steel-lined voice.

"Alright, but I don't like being cut out of my share."

"You know business hasn't been the best lately."

Canderous clenched his jaw with some subdued emotion, giving his boss and current employer a sidelong glance.

"All I know is the sum we agreed on when I entered your service. The last few payments were less than adequate. You wanted the best, and you got it. But it doesn't come cheaply."

Davik gave him a long, dangerous stare. Which was met and held firmly.

"You'll get your money, Canderous. The sooner you get me those codes, the sooner you'll get it. That's why I'm giving you free reins with this operation. You've got the best team of specialists on Taris, the best equipment. You can't not get me those codes."

Canderous let out a soft breath, saying nothing. His icy stare lingered for a moment more, then he turned back to the lifts.

"I need to inspect the Undercity teams before they set out on the evening rounds," he said casually as he waited for the lift to arrive, back turned to Davik.

The crimelord just nodded absently, his attention now focused on the text message that was just received on his personal, state-of-the-art comm unit.

"Not just yet," Davik spoke finally, his eyes still on his comm unit. "We'll go and say hello to our dream team first."

He looked up, ignoring Canderous' look of mounting annoyance.

"I want you to brief them and set them up with all the equipment. I want them to be ready as soon as possible," he steered Canderous into the lift, pressing the button for one of the lower levels which held storage rooms and spice laboratories.

"I hope they're better than the wet-behind-the-ears enforcers you're sending to the Undercity."

"Oh yes," Davik said with a quick glint of enthusiasm. "The best money can buy. Well, on Taris, anyway."

They were interrupted by the lift car arriving with a soft tone, and Davik lead the way through well-lit corridors, occasional guard nodding in respectful acknowledgment. The convoluted path through the vastness of lower level estate brought them to what appeared to be a multi-purpose storage room. Some tables and a large holoprojector with various computer consoles suggested its usage as an informal briefing and conference room, instead of its initial design purpose.

Four sentients were casually seated at a small table off to the far wall and engrossed in quiet chatter, snapping into nervous attention as Davik and Canderous entered. Davik nodded quickly, not wasting any time as he took a commandeering position near the holoprojector emitter.

"I think you all know why you're here."

The scarred man looked at the staring faces, reading reluctant expectance, readiness, even subdued fear. He smiled inwardly when they averted their gazes one by one, as his own lingered momentarily. It was good to know he still had that effect on people.

"Of course, Mr. Kang," one of the four sentients that comprised the attentive group confirmed somewhat tensely, after clearing his throat. "Although, we haven't been told all the details…"

"You will be, soon enough," Davik Kang shot him a brief look, straightening. "First I'd like to point out again that you are all good enough to warrant this job in the first place. I've made sure that you're the best at what you do, so I expect some results."

He scanned their faces again briefly, before turning toward the big man standing next to him for the first time.

"This man here is Canderous Ordo, as you may know. He's one of my most trusted men, and he'll be leading this job. So from now on, any questions you got, you turn to him."

The tall Mandalorian in question turned his cold eyes on the small group. His hardened visage spoke of war and unyielding ferocity waiting under the calmness like a beast in the shrubery. His eyes betrayed nothing but detached coldness, tempered with fire of passion, and would speak of countless battles if they could. The reaction of men was predictable. All but one winced involuntarily as Canderous' eyes passed them, feeling the distinct uncomfort that testified to the brief time passing from the last Mandalorian war.

The small group consisted of three humans and a Twi'lek, all specialists in their fields. Their services did not come cheap, but Davik Kang was the last man on Taris that had to make economic compromises.

"Now some of you may already know each other, but just so we get the formalities out of the way," his eyes darted toward the first sentient sitting on the far left of the table, a small-framed human with unkempt black hair. "This is Yen Rufkel, demolitions man, ex-Taris Planetary Defence. He lost his job with the occupation and is currently selling his skill to the best buyer. Who just happens to be me."

The man grinned uneasily at the others, his slanted eyes smiling.

"Next to him we got Ker Agar, or as most of you would know him as, Blondie. He'll be in charge of communications and computer infiltration."

The man in question ran an idle hand over his flat-top blonde hair, glancing lazily at the others.

"The Twi'lek gentleman goes by the name of Unshin L'Vak, and he's one of the most important segments of this team. He'll be tending to all the matters of security cracking and opening doors for the rest of you."

Unshin nodded his head politely at Davik, barely sparing a glance at his new co-workers.

"And finally, Senk Ged, the designated driver for the team, and all-around shooter. Some of you might recognize him from the Swoop Race circuit, where he used to compete a few years back."

The tall black man on the far right end of the table raised an acknowledging hand.

"Hey."

"Alright," Davik stepped closer, his tone businesslike. "Now that we got that out of the way, let's focus on business. Canderous here's going to-"

"Is this going to be a specific contract, or do we enter your service for indeterminate time?" Blondie, the human in what looked like modified Republic module armour asked, his pale blue eyes sparkling with vivid energy.

"Strictly specific," Davik said quickly, irritation at being interrupted detectable in his voice. "But those are details, and I'll let Canderous sort them out with you in a minute."

Blondie shifted in his seat, his expression a curious mixture of reserve and growing interest.

"And the pay?"

"More than you can spend in a year," Davik turned to him again, unphased. "If you succeed in getting me what I want, I'll reward you accordingly."

"Now, as I was saying, Canderous-"

The door opened with a subtle hiss, interrupting him again. A few armed guards walked in, bringing in large security coffers, their uncertain eyes seeking Davik's approval. As if just remembering something, Davik quickly nodded and waved them in impatiently.

"I've taken the liberty to provide you with some equipment to get you started," he commented as the heavily armed servants displayed the coffers on the floor before the curious eyes. "When you need anything else, and you _will_ need it, you talk to Canderous."

Canderous, standing a bit to the side with arms crossed idly, gave a quick glance over the men assigned to him, then returned to staring off into distance. Davik continued, slowly walking around his men who were opening the heavy coffers, revealing various weaponry, electronic decoders as well as explosive charges and other such equipment, all highly advanced and highly illegal.

"I'll spare no expenses to get what I want, and I expect only the best from every one of you."

"Damn," Senk breathed in awe, having rushed from his seat to closely examine a large blaster carbine with shining eyes. "With this stuff, getting those codes should be a piece of cake."

"We'll need a lot more than just heavy weapons," Canderous spoke up for the first time, bleeding some of enthusiasm from Senk's expression. "If it were that easy, we wouldn't need any of you for it."

Mercenaries stepped over to the displayed goods to inspect and familiarize themselves with them, while Davik discussed something quietly with Canderous. Yen and Blondie picked up some portable scanners and analysis equipment, setting it up on the nearby table while engaged in some restrained debate or other. The other two kept examining the provided equipment with barely concealed enthusiasm.

The black man, Senk, leaned over to the Twi'lek and placed his boot on the bench to casually support the large rifle he was cradling protectively.

"I haven't seen you around for a while, Unshin. I thought you retired already, but then I heard you got on this job...Davik's really forking out for this one, eh?"

The blue Twi'lek smiled nostalgically, pausing with a miniature hacking console in his hands.

_"I'm about to retire, actually. This is the last job for me, that boost to launch me into comfortable life of an honest citizen."_

They laughed at that notion, their laughter dying slowly into banality of their existence. As they slowly fell back into silence, their thoughts wound into momentary introspection, a flicker of their passed life's recapitulation in the glimpse of the future.

_"And how have things been for you?"_ Unshin asked abruptly, surprising Senk. _"I haven't seen or heard of you since the Vulkar-Bek war started."_

Senk gave a dismissive sigh, shifting the weapon in his hands.

"Since the Magnetic Blades broke up, I've sworn I'm done with swoop gangs."

_"That's right, you used to race for them, didn't you?"_

"Yeah," Senk said slowly, obviously uneasy talking about his past. "But I was getting tired of the swoop track even before Brejik's feud. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing better than rushing through traffic full speed on some sweet bike, but I'm not all that for gang politics."

Unshin seemed bemused by that.

_"But nothing against being a hired gun?"_

Senk cracked a roguish grin.

"Mercenary work is simple. They point me in a direction, I shoot, they pay me money. It's a dream job."

Unshin nodded with a snort, and another pause fell in lack of any discursive topics. Senk shouldered the rifle he had been holding, glancing about at others. His wandering eyes stopped on one particular figure in the room.

"So who's the blondie?"

Twi'lek shrugged casually.

_"It's the first time I heard his real name. He's just known as Blondie," _he glanced at the man in question cautiously. _"He's well known in the Exchange spice routes, used to be a bounty hunter."_

Senk gave a surprised look.

"Really? Was he any good?"

Unshin gave a knowing smile.

_"Oh yes. He used to be in the Silver Corona, before most of them were killed by the Sith."_

Senk gave a low whistle at this. The Silver Corona was one of the most famous, in the underground anyway, and respected mercenary companies, whose exact leadership was still very much a mystery to this day. They were quite a scourge for hunted sentients during the last years of Mandalorian War, and far into the still ongoing Sith War. Now defunct, they were most known for what would later be referred to as 'Ando Incident'.

During the initial Sith invasions, the Silver Corona, working for some unknown contractor, managed to infiltrate into a Sith base in Ando system space forward outpost. They shut down automated defenses and cut off the base's main power supplies via remote network, then sent in a small strike team in a daring maneuver that was going to be the talk of late night drinking companies in the criminal underground for years to come. They snatched a valuable prisoner from heavily guarded Sith military installation, before the disarrayed defense forces could muster a cohesive counterattack.

_"You probably know about the Ando fiasco. Silver Corona earned a lot of credits with that mission, but it was also the beginning of the end. The prisoner who they captured, some high-ranking Exchange kingpin, or so the word goes, got them freighterloads of credits. But it cost them dearly, because the Sith, that was back when Darth Revan was still alive and acting chief, hunted them actively since that incident." _

Senk laughed boomingly.

"Yeah, I guess it didn't do much for their public image for a group of mercenaries to break into one of their bases and swipe a high-security prisoner from under their noses."

_"You could say that. Like I said, they ran on a tough streak, and it ended at Yavin system, where the Silver Corona attack cluster got ambushed into orbital trap. They say there's still debris floating in Yavin 8 polar orbit from that battle. I mean, Silver Corona had the best weapons and ships available on the black market, but this is Sith we're talking about. If you've ever seen one of those colossal Sith cruisers tearing to pieces some poor vessel, you'll know what I mean."_

Senk nodded sympathetically.

"So what really happened? Were they all killed, or what?"

The Twi'lek took a slow breath.

_"Not from what I hear. They say only a few lucky individuals managed to escape with their lives, and even that thanks to some Republic ships stumbling upon the battle and distracting the mainstay of Sith forces,"_ he indicated the blonde human, who was now running some tests on electronic equipment Davik provided. _"Blondie's one of those who survived."_

Senk followed Unshin's gaze, silently thinking on this information.

"He's good enough for Davik to be hiring him, and I guess that's good enough for me."

Unshin smirked darkly, his voice lowering considerably.

_"Some even say he got away because he was the one who relayed their coordinates to the Sith. But that's just rumours, you know."_

Senk gave a non-committal sound, his attention seemingly focused on the advanced weapon in his hands. Unshin pocketed some security spikes, nodding his head toward the quietly conversing duo of their employers.

_"You know anything about this Canderous?"_

Senk looked up in mild surprise, then followed his companion's gaze.

"He's a Mandalorian, I don't think I _want_ to know anything more. Man, Davik's gotta be paying him a fortune to come working in this dump."

_"Hey, Taris used to be one of the prime trading worlds before the new hyperspace routes. It's still a well-used junction for spice and other black market lines,"_ the Twi'lek shrugged as he was turning a multi-lockpick in his hands inquisitively. _"Or at least it used to be, before this quarantine. This place is going to hell in a gravbasket since the Sith occupation, I tell you."_

"Yeah, I know what you mean. I remember-"

"Now that you've looked over the toys I've provided for you, let's see how you're going to put them to good use," they were interrupted by Davik speaking up again, drawing all attention.

He glanced at Canderous, who stepped forward with an obvious intention of speaking.

"You'll be staying in this complex for the duration of your contract, and you'll be spending all your effort to make sure you carry it out," Canderous supplied evenly, his voice impossible to ignore. "That means you don't go out to the city, and you don't contact anyone while you're here."

"What if we want to relax a little bit?" Senk piped up, drawing some agreeing chortles from Unshin and Yen.

Canderous gave him an unnerving stare, effectively wiping the smile from his face.

"There's enough of everything you could need right here at the estate. Girls, drinks, drugs, it's all in abundance. But you won't be enjoying it much, because you'll be getting ready and working on completing your contract."

Davik was nodding in concurrence, and looked like he was about to say something as well, when his attention was stolen by another person entering. The mercenaries exchanged meaningful looks at the familiar short figure of the man determinedly walking up to Davik. Everyone's attention now solely on the short bounty hunter, he seemed as indifferent as ever, as if to already being used to his paradoxically commanding presence. One could easily miss the momentary glance of icy derision that was passed between the Mandalorian and the bounty hunter. Davik leaned down so that the shorter man could whisper something to him. There was a brief flash of irritation on his face as he straightened again.

"Canderous, you take it from here. I've got some business to take care of. Gentlemen," the four sentients stood up in a sign of respect as he left with Calo Nord close behind him.

"Listen up now," Canderous stepped over to the holoprojector nonchalantly, bringing up a three-dimensional display of what looked to be a complex military-grade map. "You already know the basics, now we'll go into detail."

He briefly scanned the room, four pairs of expectant eyes staring back, then turned back to the holomap.

"This is what you'll be doing for the next couple of weeks."

XXX

Their walk from the Shipton Lane was uneventful, and enshrouded in grimness. Thoughts as heavy as the polluted air spiralled around them unseen, bringing with them a sort of mutual reluctance to sift them into words.

"Well," Vren said finally, breaking the silence. "We are finally out of danger."

Just as he said those words, a nearby group of tough-looking swoop gang thugs took notice of them.

_"The Sith aren't welcome here!"_ a particularly big Nikto spat, hefting a vibrosword ominously.

"Terrific," Vren supplied dryly. "Just what we need to work out the muscles from sitting in a cramped speeder."

The blaster bolts were already flying past their heads as he said that, and they both dove for cover. Vren fired off a shot, then surprised his opponents by rolling out of the cover, unsheathing his blades. Sith armour he was still wearing absorbed a direct hit that tumbled him off-course. He threw himself sideways, flopping toward the closest opponent's feet as Carth's shots flew by above. The surprised Vulkar, a blaster-wielding Rodian, barely managed to give a startled cry before Vren's sword cut into his legs. Ankles crushed, he fell onto the waiting blades. Vren shoved back at the struggling Rodian firmly hooked on his vibroblades, pushing him backward and using him as a dying shield for his companions' fire.

Behind him, Carth jumped into a closer cover, steadily decreasing distance to the enemy line. Vren kicked the dead Rodian into a pair of his companions, distracting them enough to launch an attack and for Carth to take one down.

Another Rodian slammed a shock baton into Vren's side, enticing a cry of rage, despite the armour dissipating most of the charge. Dropping one of his vibroswords, Vren grabbed the Rodian's wrist before he could pull back, twisting and throwing his arm wide to expose his side. He followed with a kick through that cut past the oncoming punch, imbalancing him, and then immediately locked his leg over the alien's arm he still gripped, twisting the wrist just outside of his knee joint to push his opponent down into joint-dislocating position.

Carth, now completely out in the open as most fire was drawn to Vren, was kneeling in a firing position, precise bolts keeping the remaining thugs behind cover. Finishing off the Rodian, Vren launched into a sprint toward where the last two enemies were sheltering, dropping into a slide just as one of them, a human, peered out and fired off a shot. The bolt grazed the top of Vren's helmet as he dropped to the floor, the dry impact and unpleasant heat spreading even under the enclosed armour. He rolled forward amidst unnervingly close blaster impacts, with Carth providing some seminal support from behind. As he came out of a roll he was met head-on with a large Nikto, barely blocking the overhead chop on his knees. Sparks flashed momentarily as the blades met, Vren pushing his assailant back with a cry as he stood up. Cursing wildly, the Nikto thug fought back furiously, which also prevented his comrade from landing any decisive shots on Vren without hitting his comrade.

Carth ran up to them, having dropped the rifle and picked up the sword Vren dropped on the way, launching himself into melee combat as well. He engaged the remaining human gang thug, knocking the blaster from his hands before he had the chance to fire at Carth. The first swing at the man's head was ducked, with him managing to grab a vibroknife from his dead companion's belt as he dived under Carth's attack.

Despite his apparent agility, the man was clearly sub par as far as melee combat was concerned, and Carth quickly managed to lock the thug's shorter weapon with his own, driving a hard knee to his stomach. It was followed through by a slam down on the back of his head as he doubled over, the pommel of the vibrosword sending him down permanently.

Carth whirled around just in time to see Vren behead the last thug in a frenzied slash, the alien's blood splashing over the floor and Vren's armour as the rest of his body collapsed lifelessly.

The momentary silence of the battle aftermath left them speechless, scanning the streets for any more threats, potential or otherwise.

Carth offered Vren back his vibrosword wordlessly, glancing about at the carnage. The uniform he was wearing and his posture gave him appearance of a war-weary Sith soldier, no doubt the last comparison he was trying to evoke.

Vren felt the sweat on his brow, instinctively reaching up with the back of his hand to wipe it, only to have it stop on the helmet.

"We have to get out of these uniforms," his breathing could still be heard quickened from combat. "They are just as bad as walking around Upper City in Republic insignias."

Carth, his eyes always darting around uneasily, nodded quickly.

"And fast! These streets are full of swoop gang thugs and other criminals. But we've got to find somewhere out of way to change back into our clothes. Changing out here in the open is out of the question."

Vren looked around, at the grimy buildings and shady stores, finally stopping near one of the speeder lanes that lead downward and out of sight.

"Over there," he indicated an abandoned looking building complex, outer layers peeled from the walls by time and elements.

They walked quickly into the towering building, disappearing in its dark hallways. It seemed to be condemned, piles of trash and assorted debris lining the floor suggesting its disuse. They found an abandoned apartment, half of broken door hanging from the side of the frame like some impotent curtain. The place was dim and thoroughly thrashed. Broken pieces of furniture, and what looked like rusted speeder parts testified shamelessly to the true core of Taris. Only one of the overhead lamps remained, and even that flickered intermittently, providing basic illumination at best.

"This should do it," Vren commented, already having removed his helmet as he looked around critically. "You guard the door first while I change, we wouldn't want any nasty surprises."

Nodding affirmatively, Carth positioned himself so he had a clear view over the empty corridor, and a good firing position if the need suddenly arose.

"I wonder what's in that scanner log," he commented idly, standing a bit in the cover of the broken door panel, eyes firmly set on the hallway outside.

Vren paused in unbuckling his uniform, giving a thoughtful look.

"Whatever it is, it is important. Pity we don't have the diagnostic computer to read it."

"We should get an access to one when we're back with the fleet and off this Sith-infested planet."

Vren gave a bemused smirk as he dropped the Sith armour to the floor with dull thunk.

"Optimistic, aren't we?"

Carth actually turned from the door to give him a surprised stare.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"We still have to find Bastila, remember?" Vren supplied bitterly as he pulled on the armoured pants. "So far we don't know anything about her location, _or_ whether she's still alive or not."

Carth furrowed his brow in concern.

"That officer at the party said they haven't captured her yet, so that gives us-"

"Nothing," Vren snorted resignedly. "That information is _old_, Carth, even by non-military standards. For all we know, she could have been captured and executed by now."

"Damn it, Vren, we don't have any other choice," Carth said softly, quickly glancing at the empty hallway and then back.

"I know," Vren's tone matched his, and they were both silent for a while.

Carth couldn't help but notice a strange tattoo on Vren's body in the dimness of the failing lights. A thin black line, like a coil, was running up the middle of his abdomen from where it disappeared into his pants, straight to his solar plexus. From there, a narrow line of some strange angular script was winding its way to his left side and over to his back, climbing like a coiled serpent until it widened to lodge itself in a hook-like manner into his spine at the base of his neck.

"Nice tattoos," Carth commented. "Does it go all the way down to-"

"Yes," Vren said exasperatedly, as if having to answer that question a million times before.

"What does it all mean?"

Vren shrugged dismissively.

"Nothing, it's just gibberish. When I was still in the Academy, some mates and I got into a small bet on who would get the strangest tattoo."

"Did you win?"

"No. That honour belonged to some poor idiot who got the name of his current girl tattooed across his forehead in bold letters," he shook his head bemusedly at the memory.

Carth gave a non-committal sound, staring at the jagged symbols suspiciously. Vren finished the last buckle-clasp on his combat armour, glancing surreptitiously about.

Wordlessly they exchanged places, with Vren, now back in his regular combat armour, guarding the door while Carth changed. Vren's hands crossed as he settled into slow pacing about the room.

"We should look for the nearest transition to the lower levels, where the rest of the pods crashed."

"What are we going to do with these uniforms?"

Carth straightened, finishing strapping on his blaster holsters just as Vren paused in front of him.

"We'll need them later," he looked around, his eyes stopping on an in-wall locker in the disused maintenance niche. "There!"

Carth grabbed the uniforms and followed him to the locker.

"The electronic lock seems operational," Vren commented as he tested the metallic door for sturdiness. "Can you reprogram it to a custom code?"

"Let me see."

Carth studied the mechanism carefully, finally giving an approving sound.

"No, but I can sever the opening circuitry and take out the battery mechanism to make a sort of mechanical lock."

"And that will keep it locked?"

Carth shrugged as he rummaged through the small utility pocket at his belt.

"Basically. I don't think anyone'd go to the trouble of breaking open a rusted locker in an abandoned building in these slums."

"Good enough," Vren crammed the uniforms in as Carth went to work on the locking mechanism.

"Perhaps we can gleam some information in local Cantinas," he commented thoughtfully as he paced about, attentive eyes scanning the dilapidated corridor. "We know very little about Sith movements in the Lower City, and of the gangs even less."

"I agree," Carth slammed the locker door shut, tugging on it to check it was unopenable without the internal battery. "I think I saw an ad for a Cantina near where we fought that swoop gang. It's worth checking out."

"Let's move out then."

XXX

The Javyar's Cantina was like one of its elite Upper City counterparts, only bigger, meaner, smokier, louder and more lively. Bodies spasmed to booming beats that subsonically echoed in the bones, tabacc smoke mistifying the spacious halls as any amount of artificial fog could. Everywhere one looked, sentients were dancing, talking, playing Pazaak, rowing. Anything but sitting still and enjoying their drinks quietly. Truly a place any pure breed Tarisian noble would sneer upon in disgust. It was into this chaotic turmoil that Carth and Vren were thrown as they entered the dim lobby, scanning their surroundings with cautious eyes.

"It's quite lively here," Vren commented off-handedly.

"What?" Carth leaned in, straining to hear him over the rolling waves of synthetic music.

Vren just waved him off dismissively, pointing to the main room where a myriad of slowly spinning lights added to the dim morass of smoke and laughter.

Pushing past the squirming bodies on one of the rectangular dance floors, they made their way over to a large cluster of tables, just behind the main bar. Since all the tables were taken, they just leaned on one of the drink countertops near the hallway, somewhat at a loss on how to proceed. A particular man caught Vren's eye, sitting at a corner table alone – a curious fact in itself, considering the crowded nature of the Cantina. Not that it was difficult to miss him, for the man stood out in the extravagant crowd of gang members, bounty hunters, prostitutes and other such opportunists like a battlecruiser in a souvenir shop. Sporting full body heavy armour, custom made by the looks of it, and tight-fitting goggles one could easily mistake him for just another enforcer that the place crawled with.

His height, the lack of it, that is, separated him from the normal imposing physique of an average criminal that frequented the establishment.

And yet, there was an unmistakable aura surrounding him like a pall of some kind, the way he shot out placid stares of unreadable chill, the measured movements of a predator as he slowly moved the glass to his lips. Vren always had an uncanny ability to judge people's personality by the way he perceived them, the first impression that went beyond simple instinct. An intuitive sense, a finely honed skill to combine all the little clues into a vague picture of the whole.

Right now, it was telling him this man might be someone that would be interesting to know. Off-putting, but interesting to know. That, and his face was strangely familiar to Vren. This one was someone famous.

His suspicions were confirmed when a small group of what appeared to be swoop gang thugs approached, their posture suggesting thinly veiled hostility.

Vren nudged Carth, which was entirely unnecessary, since by now the majority of main hall's occupants were intently following this new unfolding drama. One of the thugs, a nasty looking Rodian, stepped in front of the man, but not too close, Vren observed. His arms akimbo, he glanced at his companions quickly, exchanging smirks.

_"Look here, it's the big bad bounty hunter,"_ his tone indicated that striking up a friendly conversation was the last thing on his mind.

"Go away," said the short man simply, looking up from his glass in unreadable glance.

_"What's the matter? We just want to have a drink with the great bounty hunter,"_ a Twi'lek said, his tone derisive.

His Rodian companion turned to him, feigning disappointment.

_"Maybe he doesn't want to have a drink with us,"_ his tone turned scathing, aggressive. _"Maybe he thinks he too good for us!"_

The Twi'lek turned back to the indifferent man.

_"You think you're too good for us? Huh? The great Calo Nord,"_ he mocked, his courage undoubtedly inflated by alcohol.

"One," the man said flatly, not even bothering to look up from his glass.

The thugs exchanged amused looks.

_"What he counting? He drunk or something?"_ the Rodian mused aloud, turning back to the man as his friends laughed.

_"Hey! What you counting, small man?"_

"Two," the man said calmly, slowly sliding his glass to the edge of the table and leaning back in his seat.

_"Maybe he's counting how many of us is against him,"_ a Nikto offered constructively.

_"He no Calo Nord. Calo Nord big and strong, he just a little squirt,"_ the Rodian mocked further. _"Aren't you, runt?"_

"Three," the man said with an air of finality, exploding into motion.

Small rotund object clattered to the floor between them, preceding a disorienting flash by mere second. Vren shielded his eyes reflexively, just as a barrage of blaster fire sounded in the following confusion.

Simultaneously, Vren and Carth dived in opposite directions, landing behind the counter base and under a table, respectively. By the time they peaked from behind their covers with drawn weapons everything was already over, the short man walking in a completely casual manner past the table where Carth was hiding. Out on the floor, three fresh bodies lay silently. Rapidly the atmosphere cooled back to normal levels, this being Lower City after all, where such occurrences were part of the daily beat.

"That was pretty impressive," Carth commented, still blinking from the glare.

Vren scowled as he glanced at the bodies the short man left behind.

"Calo Nord," he said the word as if it was something sour in his mouth. "I don't like that man. He makes me nervous," his expression brightened as he turned back to the main room. "He has left an empty table. Come on."

Stepping carefully over the corpses that were already being removed by security, they settled into the comfortable plasteel chairs. Calo Nord's glass remained untouched on the edge of the table, quarter-filled with deep brown liquor. Sporting a tight expression, Vren cleared it off the table, letting it clatter and spill its contents to the floor, the hard crystal remaining uncracked.

"We should check the bounty office here, I'm told there is a fortune to be had in collecting bounties government issues out."

Carth seemed reluctant.

"You're probably right, but...with Sith being the current government, I don't know if all those bounties are justified."

Vren adopted a mildly irritated expression.

"You mean not wrapped up in transparent excuses of a lawful decree?"

Carth gave him a strange look.

"Since when does killing dangerous criminals bother you?"

"It isn't the killing that bothers me, it's the blatant hypocrisy."

Carth let out a sharp breath.

"I'm not gonna argue with you about this, not now when we've got million other things to worry about. Let's just go check on that bounty office."

"Keep calm, let's first analyse our situation and get a feel for the place."

"We don't have much time to waste, you do know that, right?"

"Yes, I am well aware of that fact," Vren could feel his annoyance rising again. He stood up abruptly, surprising Carth. "I'm going to go order us some drinks, and check in on the Pazaak room. You should stay here and make sure no one takes our table."

Carth just waved dismissively, half of Vren's words lost in the loud music anyhow. Vren moved through the crowd of dancing and standing sentients, going over to one of the heavily crowded bars.

He bumped into a Twi'lek woman on his way, almost causing her to spill her drink. He was about to let loose a string of scolding when the familiarity of the face struck him. It was one of the Twi'leks from their apartment block.

Same revelation seemed to dawn on her as well.

_"Oh, it's you! Isn't this a coincidence!"_

A momentary smile flashed across Vren's face, looking more like a random spasm. He made a non-committal sound, pretending to search for someone in the crowd.

_"Do you remember me, from the apartment complex? I'm your neighbour,"_ she said in a quieter tone, looking around conspiratorily. _"Don't worry, your secret is safe with me."_

Vren's attention snapped back to her, eyes hardening.

_"What secret?"_ he asked slowly.

_"Well you've got to have a secret if you're living there. I mean everyone…"_ she stumbled over her words, suddenly feeling very awkward.

Vren watched her incisively for a few moments, his expression finally settling into a casual smile.

_"Would you care for a drink?"_ he took her by the elbow, practically pulling her along toward the bar. _"I think we started_ _on a somewhat wrong footing. Please allow me to correct that impression."_

He sat her down in a chair at the bar, ordering some Tarisian Ale.

_"Allow me to introduce myself; I am Lano. I believe you said your name is Aasira?"_

_"You have a good memory. Yes, that's my name."_

_"So tell me then, what was that about secrets?"_

Vren didn't fail to notice the subtle motion of the woman's lekku, as they tightened ever so slightly around her neck in a defensive pose.

_"Maybe I blurted something out without thinking. Forgive me. I've gotten so accustomed over the years to secrecy and hiding from authorities that I automatically assume everyone around me is just the same."_

_"Oh?"_ Vren arched a curious eyebrow. _"You are staying here…illegally, then?" _

She smiled tightly.

_"Every alien that's in Upper City is there illegally. Except that some have more privileges than others,"_ her eyes wandered toward the dancing Twi'leks on stage pointedly.

_"Indeed."_

He looked back at Aasira, as if snapping from his thoughts.

_"So, that woman that was with you the other day. Are you…living together?"_

_"Oh no. She just came to visit, she actually lives here in the Lower City."_

_"I see."_

Moments of rather awkward silence followed, with many mutually suspicious and wondering glances exchanged.

_"You see, Aasira,"_ Vren said finally, shifting closer so that he could be clearly heard over the booming music. _"My friend and I, we are staying in that apartment for a reason. We aren't exactly seeing eye to eye with the local law, if you know what I mean."_

Aasira nodded vigorously, raising an empathic hand.

_"Yes, I do, really. Things have gotten a little better for us non-humans with the new government, but not much. You don't have to explain anything, I understand."_

_"Good, because we really wouldn't want the information that we are staying there spread around. That would be very unfortunate."_

Aasira watched Vren's face closely, her unease at his subtly warning tone not gone unnoticed.

_"Don't worry, you've got nothing to fear from me,"_ she assured again, hastily.

_"Terrific,"_ Vren's smile was unsettling at best.

Aasira was quick to change the subject.

_"Not many humans speak Huttese around these parts."_

_"Well, I am most unusual human. Odd, though, I would imagine that a metropolis such as this would surely hold humans with certain linguistic knowledge."_

Aasira made a coy smile.

_"I meant humans in our apartment district, not much humans at all there, let alone those speaking Huttese fluently."_

Vren paused, as if in thought, then looked up at her.

_"I say, do you have some sort of job in the Upper City, or..."_

He let the thought hang in the air, like a sharp hook for her to grab.

_"No, not really."_

Vren saw that she was visibly uncomfortable with the subject, so he pressed on.

_"I say that because you mentioned your friend was from Lower City, and from my limited experience, aliens can make themselves quite the better living standard on the lower city levels than up there, amidst racism and scorn. At least, most aliens living in our block have a very good reason for staying in the Upper City, yes?" _

Aasira studied his face as he spoke, her expression conveying nothing. But her lekku subtly shifted in a manner that could be interpreted as distrust...or aggravation. She smiled, more artificially than not.

_"Like I said, I perfectly understand the need for privacy the tenants of our apartment block have. Everyone there does."_

Vren didn't miss the unspoken, looking away with unreadable expression and nodding slowly.

_"You haven't touched your drink,"_ she commented off-handedly, indicating the full glass in his hands.

Vren smiled in a not entirely pleasant manner, nodding toward her own glass.

_"Neither did you."_

_"Touche. Nobody's getting drunk tonight, eh?"_

Vren just inclined his head in acknowledgement, glancing about at the crowd.

_"Well. I really must be going, a friend is waiting for me, you see. Perhaps we'll bump into each other again soon."_

_"Perhaps," _she smiled again, giving him a friendly tap on the arm.

Without any further words, he ordered some drinks for his and Carth's table, then disappeared back into he crowd. Aasira stared after him thoughtfully, taking the first sip of her expensive drink.

XXX

"You there!" Vren motioned over one of the Twi'lek servants irritably. "Where are our drinks? We ordered them over quarter of an hour ago!"

The blue Twi'lek stopped, frowning disapprovingly as one hand settled on her hip crossly.

"Hey, I ain't no waiter! Just because I'm a Twi'lek doesn't mean I'm here to serve your rich butts!"

_"Mission, be careful. They look like enforcers, they could be Black Vulkars. You always get us in trouble with them!"_

The towering Wookiee that accompanied her was a source of many curious, and frightened stares, as he fidgeted around her in an amusing manner.

Understanding the Sheeriwook, Vren's expression tightened. He already pointed a warning finger to unleash a verbal barrage when Carth interrupted lightheartedly.

"Look, we didn't mean anything by it. We just don't know this place that well, we're kind of new here."

The girl's face softened somewhat.

"Oh, that means you're one of those people that got stuck here because of the quarantine? I thought I never saw you around here before."

She visibly perked up, dropping into a chair at their table, while the tall Wookiee just stood behind her awkwardly.

"I guess that makes me and Big Z here your official welcoming committee!" she chirped.

"I don't remember allowing-" Vren began in that slow, venomous manner of his, annoyed by her cheerful demeanor, when Carth quickly interjected, sending him a firm glare.

"So you live down here? Why don't you tell us a bit about this place?"

"Sure! Just buy me a drink and I'm all yours!" she laughed mischievously, eliciting an exasperated breath from Vren.

"Uh, sure. What'll you have?" Carth waved a servant over.

The large Wookiee growled miserably, vexed by his companion's willingness to be distracted from their mundanity so easily.

_"Mission, I must eat something. I am starving!"_

Mission turned to him in playful annoyance.

"Oh hush, you big baby! Didn't you just eat a minute ago? Well go on, knock yourself out already! I'll stay here and talk to these nice off-worlders, wouldn't want them to get the wrong impression of Taris."

The Wookiee shambled away with a subdued grunt.

"So where were we?" she turned back to them with an eager smile.

"You were about to tell us something about Lower City," Carth provided helpfully.

"Oh yeah, that's right! It can get pretty tense sometimes, what with all the gang wars lately and the rumours about Davik turning up heat on the Lower City businesses. They even say he's hired Calo Nord himself to-"

"Yes, we've seen the dwarf," Vren interrupted curtly, as if by the mention of bounty hunter's name his patience snapped. "You say he is working for this Davik?"

"Yeah," the Twi'lek nodded vigorously. "Or at least that's the scoop. The best, most notorious bounty hunter this side of the Outer Rim. You saw his handiwork here just now, didn't you?"

She glanced at the drying bloodstains suggestively.

"Anyway, you don't want to mess with him. He's one tough cookie."

Vren gave something akin to suppressed snort, glancing away in apparent bemusement.

"I'm serious!" the girl adopted a matching expression. "People say he's even more dangerous than that Mandalorian Davik's got working for him."

"Wait a minute, a Mandalorian?" Carth asked quickly, his face darkening. "Davik's got a Mandalorian working for him?"

"Yeah, it's pretty much common knowledge around here. Some big mercenary, who knows what special work Davik's hired him for."

"What makes you say that?"

"You don't hire a Mandalorian mercenary to do your laundry or shake down local stores," Vren interjected impatiently. "Now what was that about gang wars?"

"Well, it's kinda complicated, with personal grudges and territory issues and all that. Basically, it boils down to this: On one side you've got Hidden Beks, that's the good guys, me and Big Z hang out around their base all the time so I know; and on the other there are the Vulkars. They're really just a bunch of bullies and coreslimes, even more since Brejik took over."

"Who's Brejik? Could you slow down a little?" Carth waved his hand calmingly, unable to follow her excited rambling.

She smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry. I tend to ramble sometimes. Just stay clear of Vulkars, they've gotten to shooting people on sight!"

"What can you tell us of Davik?" Vren cut in decisively.

She leaned in a bit, lowering her voice as she glanced around.

"Nothing much. I stay out of his business, just like you'll do if you're smart. You don't wanna mess with the man that practically runs Taris. I keep my nose clean, you know?"

"You live down here all on your own?"

Mission gave a frown over the note of concern in Carth's voice, a hint of irritation entering her voice.

"Yeah, it's pretty much just me and Big Z. We're good, though, this place really isn't all that bad once you get used to it."

"It doesn't look so good to me, so far," Carth said sadly, glancing about the busy Cantina.

"The lower you go, the worse it gets," Vren said off-handedly, looking over at Mission intently. "Isn't that so?"

Mission didn't really pay full attention, her restless eyes searching the crowd for her companion. She shrugged non-committally, her eyes briefly grazing Vren's.

"I guess. Some'd say the more richer...'more blood, more money', like that saying goes."

She half-stood as she noticed the Wookiee, waving him over mutely. Carth and Vren exchanged quick looks, but said nothing. As soon as the chatty girl was confident her friend noticed her, and tore himself slowly from the crowd, she turned back to them.

"A-Hey, we better go. Drop around the Bek base if you want to talk, or something. I'll catcha later!"

And she was gone, a faint trickle of blue in the crowd of muted greys and greens. Carth stared after them, his eyes sparkling in musing thoughts.

"Interesting pair."

"She didn't even pay for her drink," Vren complemented sourly, eyeing derisively the empty glass that was in Twi'lek's hands a moment ago.

"There you go again. You just couldn't stand actually _buying_ someone a drink for a change, could you?"

There was more venom in Carth's voice than he had perhaps intended, eliciting a smoldering scowl from Vren.

"You'll forgive me if I don't jump at a chance to buy expensive beverages for complete strangers, who also happen to be incredibly annoying at that."

"She's just a kid, Vren!" Carth practically snapped, immediately forcing his voice and manner back to conversational level. "You can't just...treat everyone like dirt! She's given us some valuable info on the Lower City. I'm sure she's just trying to make a living and not get in the way of the Sith, like a lot of these people."

"Something tells me this has less to do with the Twi'lek and more with your apparent dislike of me. You just can't seem to bring yourself to trust me, can you?"

Carth let out a long breath, his expression almost painfully tight, as if he was carefully composing the right words in his mind.

"It's not that I don't like you, I just..." he let out a frustrated sigh, slouching back in his seat. "I knew it was a mistake to talk with you about it openly. You just don't understand where I'm coming from."

"Oh yes," Vren's tone was dripping dry sarcasm now. "You never know when I might drop by at the nearest Sith base to deliver my intel report."

Carth brushed some stray hair out of his eyes annoyedly.

"Look, you've got the skills of an elite commando and you've saved my butt plenty of times, and I'm grateful for that. But don't expect me to trust you blindly, I'm just not built that way."

Vren stopped, giving a cold stare.

"I've just about had enough of these thinly veiled accusations. How Do I know _you _aren't the traitor?"

"Me?" Carth asked incredulously.

"Yes, you! The best way to divert attention from yourself is to accuse others, which is exactly what you are doing!"

Carth let out a suffering sigh.

"This is getting ridiculous. We're-"

"Yes, _quite_. You seem to have some sort of unresolved issues, issues which might pose a _problem_ to our current situation!"

"I don't have an issue," Carth's tone carried dangerous irritation in return. "I'm just not comfortable with people I barely know, Republic soldiers or no! You wanna know what my issue is? The Sith are my issue! Look-just look what they've done to this planet! I'm not going to let myself be set up for betrayal again, not in this dump of all places!"

His expression conveyed some inner struggle as he fought to control himself, shooting back what was left in his glass angrily. Vren stared at him with impaling gaze, but said nothing for a long time.

"Your unfounded paranoia is _really_ beginning to annoy me, Carth," he said finally, as the palpable tension rose to almost unbearable levels. "Think of me what you want, but if you endanger our chances of getting off this bloody planet, you _will_ regret it."

Carth just shook his head tiredly and pointedly looked away, wearing a sour expression. His eyes focused and narrowed with a frown as he noted someone in the crowd.

"Hey, isn't that the woman from our apartment block? One of those two that barged in the other night?"

Vren's head snapped up to follow his stare.

"Yes, yes she is. I had a little chat with her," Vren hurried to explain as Aasira noticed them, approaching with a friendly smile.

_"Lano! Ah, there is your friend. I don't think we've been introduced yet,"_ she wormed her way past Vren to Carth, much to his annoyance. _"I am Aasira."_

Carth took the offered hand, flashing a somewhat guarded smile.

"Hi. I'm-"

"Yuluk," Vren interjected quickly, earning a surprised scowl from Carth. "I've already explained to our neighbour here that we are staying in those buildings because we must keep a low profile. She _fully_ understands this."

The last part was pointedly directed at Aasira, along with a meaningful look.

_"Er, yes, sure. Well...I really need to be going now, so...just come around if you ever want to go grab a drink or even just talk. You know where to find me,"_ she smiled conspiratorially.

Vren's bedazzling smile disappeared the moment she turned her back, twisting into a dark frown.

"I'm really beginning to dislike that woman."

"What was that all about? And why is she calling you Lano?" Carth asked suspiciously.

Vren waved his question off dismissively, his attention idly set on the crowd around them.

"Well I can't very well go around telling everyone my true name, can I? Might as well give them my rank and station while I am at it."

"Yeah, but...oh, I guess you're right. You can never be too careful, especially with the mess we're in."

"Precisely. Now, I believe I spotted a Pazaak room somewhere in the back..."

XXX

"We lost contact, but she lives still."

Master Vandar's affirmation did nothing to dispel the grave expression on Navash's face.

"Which puts the Council's decision to send her as the leader of that taskforce all the more under question."

"We did what had to be done," Vrook said curtly. "I am sure the High Council will agree, especially in the light...of other information."

Navash rose curious eyebrows.

"Something I am afraid we are not at liberty to discuss even with you, Navash," Master Zhar supplemented gravely.

"Oh. I see. A sensitive matter then," the forcefully calm look he directed over the assembled Masters spoke nothing of his thoughts, but the flaring of his aura, quickly quelled by his Force mantle, did. "I am sure the Council knows best. However, as I _am _the emissary of the Coruscant Temple, I must be informed of Jedi Bastila's whereabouts, for obvious reasons."

"Yes, naturally," Master Vandar's croaking voice floated upwards through the chamber. "We understand the anxiety of High Council over Bastila's disappearance. We share in it ourselves, with Bastila's relevant contribution to the Sith confrontation. You will be informed as soon as we have any news, so that you may convey it to the Jedi High Council."

Navash nodded in respectful acknowledgement, nevertheless his voice carrying a constrained undertone.

"Master Vandar, the Council's forthright manner is appreciated. Yet Bastila's importance is such that the possibility of her...displacement must be brought into High Council's deliberation sooner than any subsequent unpleasantries may arise."

"We are confident that Bastila will not stray from her path," Master Zhar interjected, cutting Navash's eloquencies tersely. "She is devoted to the Order and all too well aware of the dangers of the Dark Side."

"We trust in the Force to return her safely to us," Master Dorak assured.

Master Vrook gave him a quick glance, then frowned exasperatedly at Navash.

"So this matter is out of discussion. The Order must remain ever vigilant, if we are to defeat Malak and his battalions of hate, and in this we train our students the most; for it is the greatest of dangers."

Master Zhar nodded in agreement as Vrook continued with an air of bitterness.

"The Order almost brought the Republic to the brink of destruction, when the paragons of its virtues have failed so, succumbing to the Dark Side. Now we must do all in our power to undo this darkness that was unleashed with Revan and Malak's betrayal. Be certain we would not have sent Padawan Bastila on this mission were it not absolutely necessary."

"Master Vrook speaks wisely," Zhar interrupted, giving Vrook a pointed glance. "But beyond what was already said, we cannot discuss, Navash."

Navash gave an acquiescing nod.

"Of course, Masters. I understand. Then we should move on to other matters. I have here," here he procured a compact datacube from the folds of his robe, offering it carefully. "A most important message from the High Council, partly the reason of my visit."

Master Zhar took the presented datacube from Knight Navash's hands, looking meaningfully at the other Masters. Master Vandar spoke up first in the relative silence of the softly beeping computers.

"You do not know what it holds, Knight Orai?"

Navash seemed reluctant as he glanced at the assembled Masters.

"I was not informed of its contents, but was most highly advised of its greatly confidential nature, and have guarded its secrecy with my life. I should leave you to study its message in private, Masters."

"Yes, that would be for the best," Vandar said evenly, exchanging a quick look with Zhar. "May the Force be with you, Knight Orai."

"May the Force be with you, Masters."

Bowing respectfully, Navash left the Council Masters alone in the small computer analysis room.

"I think we all know already what this is about," Zhar said ominously as he inserted the datacube into the decryptor.

He typed in his personal security string, stepping aside for other Masters to do the same. As they did, slowly the decoding process came to a halt on the monitor screen and a pre-recorded image of a human Jedi Master flicked to life, illuminating their grim expressions.

XXX

"You cheat!" Niklos spat in that heavily accented voice.

Vren gave a disapproving sigh, pulling the credit chips over.

"It isn't my fault you're incompetent."

The self-proclaimed Taris Pazaak champion flushed deep red in anger, donning a stormy scowl.

"And you even dare to insult me, when I point out your obvious sleight of hand? I refuse to play any more games with you!"

"Pity," Vren called mockingly after him, as he stormed off infuriated. "I could always use some spare credits!"

After gathering some information in Javyar's Cantina and scouting out the immediate area of Lower City, he and Carth returned back to top level, in order to sort through their discoveries and create some strategy before attempting contact with one of the local gangs. Since they agreed on keeping low profile for the day, just in case Captain Frelok and his men decide to investigate their sudden disappearance, Vren came back to the Cantina just around their apartment block to relax with a game of Pazaak.

He was collecting the won credits off the now abandoned Pazaak table with a self-congratulatory smirk, when he noticed a female presence hovering over him.

"Hello. I saw your match against Niklos. Very impressive. I like a man who's not afraid to take risks," she purred, winking at Vren seductively.

He just stared back unflichingly, and not entirely pleasantly.

"My name's Christya. Maybe we could get to know each other better. How about you give me twenty credits so I can go buy us a drink? Then we could go back to my place later."

"How about I don't?"

The woman winced at his tone, her seductive expression dropping slightly.

"What's the matter, are you shy? Don't be, I like you."

Vren stopped collecting his cards, turning slightly to look up at her, his features sharpening into a scowl. Then, in an instant, his expression brightened to a sort of melancholic weariness.

"I'm sorry, I'm just having a bad day. Why don't you take a seat?"

The woman hesitated briefly, finally sitting down next to him at the Pazaak table. Vren shuffled the cards again, putting them back into the pack.

"You're the first person that talked to me the whole evening," he said with a dreary sigh. "Apart from the Pazaak players, I mean."

"Then it's a good thing I found you," she paused at his crestfallen expression. "Why so sad?"

He looked at her with the saddest expression, then back down on the credit chips he was slowly collecting.

"It may seem like all this money is making me happy. It doesn't."

"Don't worry, things'll pick up," she edged closer to him, like river serpent to its prey.

"Why don't you let me buy us a drink? Then you can finish telling me all about it back at your place?"

Vren's face lit up with an idiotic smile. But it quickly reverted back to his previous gloom.

"I can't."

The woman leaned away slightly, her expression faltering. Vren quickly grabbed her hand.

"It's not that I don't want to – I do! But I just…"

He stopped abruptly, as if forgetting himself. Sensing profit, she leaned in closer, allowing her perfume to waft all over him.

"What's wrong? Come on, you can tell me."

Vren gave a long suffering sigh, turning the credit chips in his hands nervously.

"I…I guess I could tell you. You seem like a nice enough woman, and I really have to get this off my chest."

Christya's ears perked as she arched her eyebrows in patient expectancy.

"Alright, it's like this. I'm sure you've heard of Davik Kang?"

"Yes," she said slowly, guardedly.

"Well," Vren lowered his voice tentatively. "I used to work for him, once. Nothing serious, mind you, I wasn't, you know, killing people and all that. I'm very good in hacking computer system databases, security networks, things like that."

Christya nodded quickly, her interest piqued.

"So, I did a couple of jobs for Davik a few years ago, then I had to leave Taris," he gave a sigh, looking down. "Also because I owed him a considerable amount of money at the time. At any rate, I came back, just in time to get stuck in the quarantine."

He smiled bitterly, and Christya returned an encouraging smile, prompting him to continue.

"Of course Davik took the chance to put me under his boot."

"What do you mean?"

Vren leaned in conspiratorially.

"Did you see that man I came in with? He's on Davik's payroll, one of the most vicious bastards I've ever known. He specializes in 'asset acquisition', and he's here to make sure I pay off my debt to Davik. Don't let his innocent demeanor fool you. You wouldn't believe the things I've seen him do. I'm fortunate to have survived that long in his presence as it is."

He glanced around nervously to emphasize his words.

"Really?" Christya said incredulously, as she tried to recall Carth in detail in her mind and combine the image with this startling new information.

Vren nodded dramatically, donning a grave expression.

"The thing is, I am doubly screwed if I don't pay Davik. You see, there's this wealthy merchant that has gotten himself in trouble with Davik, so he wants him robbed blind to teach him a lesson. He said he would let me do the job when I pay back the credits I owe him."

He gave a deep, slow sigh.

"I just need three hundred credits to get in, and I'm all set. But I'm nowhere near that sum. I know they won't wait for me much longer."

"Doesn't Davik need you for the job?"

"Yes, but there's plenty of other such specialists on Taris he can hire. They waited as long as they did because I'm very good at what I do, and Davik doesn't like losing money. But he's not going to wait much longer."

"What would he do?" Christya asked, despite knowing what the answer would be.

The morbid curiosity demanded it, though.

"If Davik thinks I can't pull my weight in hard cash, he'll just...well. It's most unfortunate. I even have the safebox reserved in speeder transport terminal."

"Safebox?" Christya asked quickly.

"Yes, I have a special safebox in the speeder terminal in Tir district-"

"You mean the one near the military base?"

Vren nodded.

"I have a deposit box there, as a stash for the valuables we'll get in the heist. Then I'll go and pick them up with a safe speeder a few days later, when the militia interrogates the known...people like me, and take it all to Davik."

"But if they...I mean, hire someone else for the job, will they still use that speeder transport terminal safebox?"

Vren shook his head sourly.

"No, that's my personal stash. I'll just use it to store the credits until the whole thing cools off a bit so we can transport it back to Davik safely. I don't know what they'll do if Davik gets someone else for this. I'll probably be dead anyway," he added tensely.

Christya stared off at the wall, licking her lips excitedly as the possibilities lined her mined. Vren cleared his throat nervously. She gave him a dismissive glance, annoyed at being interrupted in her plans.

"When did you say this is going to happen?"

"In a week, that's how much I've got to raise the money if I want to get in."

She seemed to ponder on this in sudden silence, and Vren quickly interrupted her thoughts by another half-excited statement.

"I don't even know why I am telling you this. I feel like I can tell you anything. Which is strange, since I've only known you for a half an hour or so."

Christya smiled wolfishly.

"I tend to inspire trust in people. It's alright, I feel strangely connected to you too. Are you sure we haven't met before?"

Vren just smiled, looking away as if slightly embarrassed as she kept spinning her seductive web.

"I suppose you're not doing this job alone, are you?"

Vren looked at her warily.

"No. Why do you ask?"

"Well, does anyone else know about the location of this safebox?"

"No. Why?"

"Well, suppose that something happens to you after you put the money in that deposit box. I'm not saying it will, but just suppose. Then Davik won't get his cut, no one will."

"No," Vren said slowly, creasing his forehead as if thinking really hard. "But it won't matter then in any event."

"But the credits will just sit there, with no one to use them. Think of the leisure that money could bring to someone's life. Or even save someone's life."

"I suppose I could tell one of Davik's men to take the credits to Davik if anything-"

"Is give money to man who'd kill you for it really the last thing you want to do?" Christya snapped, but quickly forced a sweet smile back to her face, taking a deep breath. "Why not give that Davik the finger and give it to someone who could really use it. Davik's probably already got more than he can count, why give him more if you don't have to."

Vren studied her for a moment, drawing back slightly.

"I...don't know, wouldn't that be cheating?"

"No," she assured fervently. "If you're dead then you don't owe anything to anyone anymore."

"Really?"

She nodded vigorously.

"But who should I tell then?"

"Why not tell _me_?" she flashed a charming smile, rubbing his arm affectionately.

"You?"

"Yes. I can already tell that we're going to be _very_ close, and I promise I'll put those credits to better use than Davik if I won't be able to spend them with you. At least I'll remember you."

"And-and if everything goes fine?"

"Then you'll just have your share. And me," she breathed seductively.

Vren swallowed, staring at her wide-eyed.

"Tell you what. You tell me what's the number and code of that safebox, and I'll vouch money for you so you can pay back Davik. Then you can go through with this and pay me back from your share."

Vren's eyes widened even more in surprise.

"You would really do that for me?"

"Sure," she pulled out a credit chip, offering it with pleasantly constructed smile.

"No, I couldn't take this-"

"Oh don't be stupid! Think of how much you're going to earn if you do this job."

Vren took the credits, his movements deliberately awkward as he stammered in thanks.

"I…I don't know what to say…"

"Just take the credits and get that money," she quickly corrected herself, her tone returning to nauseating sweetness. "I can't just stand by and let someone as handsome as you pass something like this up!"

An impeccably genuine looking smile of simple joy crossed Vren's lips.

"Thank you, so much! I can trust you, right? Because I haven't told anyone else about the safebox."

She lay a soothing hand on his shoulder, her voice deep and husky.

"Don't worry, you can trust me! I won't tell anyone."

"Alright, give me your datapad."

She gladly obliged and Vren typed in some random numbers.

"The safebox number is thirty-nine, and door code is three, three, seven, eight, twelve, five. Here, I've put it into your datapad. Don't show it to anyone!"

Christya gave a lighthearted smile, quickly snatching the datapad back.

"Don't worry, I won't. Your secret's safe with me."

Another simple smile painted itself on Vren's features.

"I'll pay you back, as soon as I get the credits!"

"I know you will," there was a vicious glint in the woman's eyes.

"Terrific," Vren pocketed the credits. "Now let me get us those drinks."

"I'll be right here," she said, giving him a seductive wink.

Leaving the Pazaak room, Vren turned to the main Cantina lobby instead of the bar, a crooked smirk plastered to his face.

XXX

"I bear good news and credits," Vren came sauntering in, sporting a smug grin.

Carth stopped examining the blaster rifle in his hands, looking tersely at the credit chip Vren tossed on the table casually.

"What did you do, rob another poor sap?"

"Quite the contrary, my good man. I robbed a wealthy sap."

"I don't even want to know," Carth shook his head disapprovingly.

"Good. Because I don't want to tell," he dropped into an armchair with an air of accomplishment. "I must say, though, I am quite intrigued by this Davik fellow. He seems to wield a strong influence over Taris."

"Is that really so surprising? I mean, the guy's in Exchange as far as we know, and they don't mess around," Carth's distaste was evident from his tone.

"No, I suppose they don't," Vren said thoughtfully, contemplating something silently.

"So what's the good news?"

Vren snapped from his thoughts, arching inquisitive eyebrows at him.

"You said you had news. What is it?"

"Oh, yes, I nearly forgot. On my way back here I dropped by at the medical facility and bought some medpacks and stims. Judging from the way things are progressing so far, we'll need many soon."

"Oh," was all Carth said, dropping back into silence. "I didn't know that place was open this late. Or should I say early."

Vren shrugged.

"It must be, I suppose, for emergencies and all that."

He shuffled through the medpack injectors in question idly, then stood up abruptly, breaking the momentary silence.

"Come, let's go to Kebla's Emporium," he said spontaneously, already reaching for his weapons. "Perhaps she's gotten some new vibroblades."

"From where? Nothing can get through the quarantine."

"Maybe so," Vren said as he sheathed his vibroswords on his back. "But there must be a rich black market trade running within Taris in such crisis. Who knows what wealth of weaponry and other equipment is circulating from the lower levels."

"You really like those swords, don't you?" Carth mused, indicating the handles jutting over Vren's shoulders.

"The first time my blaster rifle malfunctioned against a shielded Sith trooper, I swore I will never let myself in a situation of such disadvantage again," Vren replied tersely as he clipped on the armour.

"Isn't that going against the RSTF philosophy? Adaptability and all?"

Vren paused, giving him an unreadable stare.

"The only 'RSTF philosophy' is the accomplishment of given mission with minimum resources in minimum timeframe, with maximum possible results."

"Fair enough. So how did you deal with that trooper? When your blaster malfunctioned, I mean."

Vren holstered a blaster pistol to his waist, checking his armour bonds for the final time before starting toward the door.

"I bludgeoned him to death with the rifle."

The streets were as busy as ever, only adding to the foreboding sense of urgency gnawing at the back of their minds. Carth looked particularly affected by the seeming helplessness of being trapped in a world where Sith were more like an unfriendly neighbour than a mortal enemy. Then again, he wasn't really sure he wanted all the Sith on Taris to regard him as such. Although mixed emotions washed over him every time he passed a uniformed Sith trooper, glancing back with his own reflection in the mirrored visor, he still couldn't help but feel some small amount of gratitude for having the benefit of relative anonymity. His introspection faded when he and Vren came upon some human children who were stoning and insulting an Ithorian in plain view.

_"Help me, humans!"_ he pleaded boomingly as he spotted them slowing down. _"I cannot fight back or the Sith will apprehend me!"_

"Hey, you kids leave him alone! Stop throwing those rocks!" Carth admonished scoldingly. "Haven't your parents taught you any manners?"

"He's just a scummy alien!" a girl yelled.

"Yeah, what do you care?" one of the boys said defiantly.

Vren turned a placid stare at the boy.

"You children better disappear before I decide to rip your ears off and throw you over the walkway."

The children paled and ran off, screaming.

_"I thank you, humans. Without your help, I do not know what I would have done. I could not have fought the offspring of your species off without getting arrested."_

Vren offered a seemingly pleasant smile.

"Is there some sort of reward for helping you?" he said in a curt, unnerving voice, earning a glare from Carth.

_"I fear I have nothing to give you, human. Only my gratitude. I must return now, for my lifemate is surely worried. Thank you again and goodbye."_

Vren's smile faltered, turning into a frown.

"There goes nothing," he murmured as he stared after the swaying Ithorian.

"Sometimes you really surprise me, you know."

"Is that so?" Vren arched a suspicious eyebrow at Carth.

"Yeah. I didn't think someone as…determined as you would stop to help an alien from something that seems pretty much irrelevant against our troubles."

"Well, it just so happens that I _loathe_ children and…" he trailed off, frowning. "What, exactly, did you mean by that last part?"

"Nothing. Just that you're always putting things in perspective against our mission. So I thought I'd save you the trouble for once."

"Well," Vren eyed him critically. "How noble of you."

Carth just gave a soft snort, shaking his head dismissively. Then his expression hardened again.

"It's just terrible that these kids could do this here in the middle of a busy street, and nobody stepped in to help him."

"Such is _noble_ Taris," Vren added sardonically, his attention already on a man up ahead. "Speaking of racism..."

On the walkway intersection ahead was an older man, loudly declaring his political manifesto with a small group of humans listening in. They ran across him before as they navigated Upper City; the obdurate man was obvious alien-hater and fierce nationalist, calling to his fellow humans to rid Taris of alien infestation. Carth and Vren never really gave him much heed, not that they often had time to spare, but now Vren stopped in front of him, surprising Carth. He listened to the man's warnings and words of hate with a sort of condescending look.

"I just wish that the Taris National Party would get the chance to enter the parliament with representative body. The current administration is just a bunch of thieves and alien-lovers."

"Your blind paranoia is sickening, old man. And current administration is _always_ a bunch of thieves, you old fool!" Vren interrupted, speaking up suddenly.

"This really isn't worth it," Carth whispered to him urgently, glancing around at the gathering crowd.

The man turned to Vren in surprise, face twisting into derision.

"More alien lovers? Yes, you can mock me now, but soon the reckoning day will come and you too will be judged, along with the plague that encroaches on our race. The Sith will not tolerate this filth in our midst much longer!"

Vren gave a snort of indelicacy.

"We will see who judges who, old man," with the corner of his eye he noticed a pair of curious Sith approaching. "Well. I wish you much fortune in your endeavors, you old goat."

With that last mockery and an acid smile, he quickly walked away before the man could retort and those Sith got any closer. He caught up with Carth a little down the walkway - he was wearing a sour expression.

"You didn't have to provoke him like you did," he said in subdued tone, annoyedly. "You know we can't afford calling the attention of Sith on ourselves."

"Come now, Carth, the man is a complete imbecile. Surely you dislike him just as much?"

"Yeah, I do," Carth admitted. "People like him really tick me off."

Vren shrugged indifferently.

"I really wouldn't concern myself overly with such petty matters, if I were you. Most aliens are irrelevant scum. But then again, so are most humans."

Carth shot him a surprised look.

"Cute. I didn't know you had such a low opinion about people."

A haughtily half-serious expression crossed Vren's features.

"Those Ithorians _are_ rather strange, what with all those headtails and oddly curved appendages..."

"Twi'leks never seem to bother you like that. Especially the female ones," Carth commented nastily.

Vren gave a crooked grin.

"Well, they have _other_ redeeming qualities."

"Yeah, I bet they do," Carth snapped with sudden enmity, turning away.

Vren exhaled irately, scowling.

"Just look around you at this great metropolis. How easy Tarisians gave in to the Sith, just so they could continue in their decadent lives. Hardly even offering any resistance."

"It's not like they had much choice in the matter," Carth contested as they turned into the street that lead to Kebla Yurt's Emporium. "It was a matter of overwhelming force, and make no mistake – the Sith don't hesitate to use it to their advantage, even against civilians."

Vren waved his hand, not really willing to discuss the matter, but Carth persisted.

"And it's not like most of Taris lives in luxury, only the wealthy classes. You've been down to the lower levels, you know how most people in this place live. Even the Sith don't really have the means to do any drastic changes to this labyrinth of duracrete, even if they really wanted to. Nothing short of complete massacre, anyway."

"No," Vren agreed as they entered the Emporium. "Their grip seems the strongest on the upper classes, those closest to the sun, which is ironic in itself."

Pausing at the door, Carth glanced back habitually, squinted in the morning sun, then disappeared inside the store after Vren.


	5. Alliance

Chapter V: Alliance

"That is not what we agreed on the other day."

Vren's voice carried a subtle warning, yet the corpulent Hutt still remained unphased.

_"That was then and this is now, human. Information doesn't come cheap, for nobody. You want information, you pay. Just like everyone else."_

Zax leaned back on his oddly shaped support lean, narrowing his lids triumphantly. Secure in knowledge that he would get his way, safe in the midst of watchful eyes of his bodyguards.

Carth whispered something in Vren's ear, his eyes settling on the Hutt uncomfortably. Vren nodded quickly, focusing back on the waiting Zax.

"Well, if you absolutely _insist _on this ludicrous fee...fine, but I expect the information to be fresh and factual."

Zax smiled broadly in a calculating grin as his stubby hands grabbed for the credit chip, his race seemingly incapable of producing any other kind of smile.

_"My information always is, human. Now what would you like to know?"_

_"About these bounties...could you be more specific about a certain bounty?"_

Zax licked his thick lips slowly as his eyes narrowed analytically, his interest roused both by Vren's flowing switch to Huttese and this sudden interest.

_"Thinking about getting those high contract rates?"_ his deep laugh rumbled momentarily. _"Which one makes you smell credits, mercenary?"_

It was not an insult, and Vren knew this; mercenaries were a sought after commodity in the Taris underground, and a vital part of the shaded area of Taris' economical infrastructure.

_"Firstly, Selven,"_ Zax snorted knowingly at this, a terrible, grating sound.

_"Ahah, I should know you'd be interested in her. Every bad bounty hunter coming here lately thinks he can bring her in. Not many come back," _he paused in a bemused expression, as much as a Hutt could wear one, as if briefly contemplating something. _"Selven's big game, human, **big.** Professional assassin who got herself in too deep. She's one of top class contract killers, or, she used to be. The street wind is she got entangled in high class politics, killing rivals of a powerful royal family. And now Organa family wants her dead, too risky to leave any witnesses."_

_"Organa, you say?"_

Zax raised his stocky hands defensively at the question.

_"So they say. Maybe. I'm not going digging any deeper, human," _he glanced over Carth quickly, irritated undertone creeping in. _"Anyway, she'll bring many credits, if you can even find her."_

Vren thought on this momentarily, one hand hooked into his belt idly.

_"I believe you also mentioned something about black bounties, the Davik's contracts-" _

"Davik's bounties are nothing but contracted killings!" Carth hissed in outrage.

"As opposed to the other, officially sanctioned killings," Vren supplied succinctly, then turned back to Zax expectantly.

The large Hutt's eyes glided slowly from one to the other in something akin to derision, his tone coming reserved and deliberate.

_"There are couple of them. A woman, Dia, got herself a bounty by angering Holdan. The merchant man, Largo, is owing Davik some money for long time, and Davik's had enough. There's Davik's former man who was going to testify against him in court. His name is Matrik. They got him into witness protection program before the occupation,"_ he shifted his head in slow manner, chuckling borborygmically._ "But the Sith don't care about witnesses, so he's free game now."_

_"Who is this Holdan you mentioned?"_

Zax indicated vaguely toward the main room with his eyes.

_"Davik's man. You can find him in one of the lounge rooms usually,"_ he paused, suddenly studying Vren thoughtfully. _"You thought about that vaccine, human?__ You find a sample and bring it here, I pay you lots of credits."_

_"Doubtful,"_ Vren muttered, then quickly raised his voice into farewell. _"We'll be off, then. But we might drop by if we need some more information, and to collect our bounties, of course."_

Zax just snorted in amusement, turning back to his datapanel.

"Right," Carth said immediately as they were out of earshot. "Now what? By looking for those criminals we might stumble on some information about Bastila. Maybe she's hiding somewhere in the lower levels. I suggest we take care of those bounties first...at least the government ones."

Vren shot him a sidelong glance of exasperation, something about his hesitation in that last sentence immensely irritating.

"Before you mark anyone a villain, Carth, let me remind you that the current government is the Sith," he said starkly, giving him a pointed look.

Carth looked like he was desperately trying not to say anything, knowing that an argument would soon develop if they dwelled on the subject. Fortunately, he was spared any further notion by a familiar figure capturing Vren's attention. He quickly adopted an amiable visage, moving toward the old man purposefully.

"Garouk, I never thought I would see you lurking outside the Pazaak parlour. And down here?"

"Eh," the old man waved dismissively. "You can only see so much games before your throat runs dry."

Vren nodded in a sympathetic manner, steering him toward one of the bars.

"Have you heard anything interesting lately?"

"The usual," he shrugged as he dropped into a barstool easily, with Carth sitting on one side and Vren on the other. "Swoopers are at it again, there's rumours of some big fight in a couple of days just outside the Solon platform. Also, some Rodian at Pazaak mentioned some big deal going down with the Vulkars."

"Davik's territory?"

Garouk shrugged as he took a thirsty sip of his drink.

"This is the Lower City, it's _all_ Davik's territory. I wouldn't bother with it, if I were you, nothing honest for a merc."

The man was operating from assumption Vren and Carth were mercenaries, a notion Vren had gone to some length to subtly imply. Very freelancing and very not-Republic mercenaries.

"What makes you say that?"

Garouk grimaced sourly.

"It's probably Sith involved, they've got spies all over the lower levels. They may not have a direct military foothold over anything below Upper City, but you can be damn sure they know what's going on. There's all sorts of factions trying to come up one another, and the occupation has given some extraordinary opportunities."

"You don't say?" Vren said musingly, ordering him another drink.

"Yep. The Sith know they can't play their power card down here, so it's all muddy waters. But they've been sending more security details down below lately, and you can bet it's nothing good. Space knows what's going on."

Vren exchanged a meaningful look with Carth.

"You suppose they are planning some action?"

Garouk raised his eyebrows in gesture of helplessness.

"Who knows? There's been some kind of battle overhead, that's why all those pods crashed down. Probably some local rebellion, but rumours go it was Republic attack," he glanced around, as if from some precautionary habit. "Whatever it was, they've quarantined the planet ever since."

"You mentioned something about political fractions before..."

Garouk gave him an earnest look.

"Like I said, nothing worth getting yourself killed about. It's politics, whether it's corporate or governmental, and politics have gotten a lot more deadly since Sith came on power. Even before, there's always been bickering between the ruling parties, and the heavier issues always sank down to the lower levels," he smirked emptily. "Wouldn't want the glamour of all those polished towers fade with all the mud slinging. Anyway, that's where things usually resolved, or escalated; down under."

"So what changed?" Carth asked, his hands crossed on the bartop solemnly.

"Not much, but enough to make a difference. Swoopers think it's prime time to make that bid for who's going to rule the streets, the syndicates have gotten more influence, Davik...Davik's gotten a lot stronger, ironically enough. It's total chaos."

"Why is that ironic?" Vren inquired, studying Garouk's face closely as he spoke.

"It's the Exchange," despite the background noise, Garouk lowered his voice, perhaps again some ingrained habit. "You know how much they rely on flowing goods. The way things are now, nothing goes in, and nothing goes out."

He stared into the swirling crystal of his glass as he spoke, tracing the smooth surface with a crooked finger. Carth shifted in his seat, leaning over the counter with a small sigh.

"Do you know anything more about those Republic pods?"

"I said _maybe_ they were Republic," Garouk eyed him warily, then shifted his eyes back to Vren. "And unless you're backed by some real influence down here, you can forget about scavenging them. Davik's probably got to whatever's out of Sith reach down there. If not him, then the swoopers."

"Swoop gangs scavenge in the Undercity?"

Garouk shot Vren a quick glance-over, then shrugged.

"They get around. I forget you're off-worlders. Listen, here's a free tip; don't go any lower than Lower City. The Rakghoul disease is out of control down there, and I've been hearing some pretty strange things drifting up."

"Such as?"

Garouk gave a non-committal grunt.

"Slavers, increased hostilities between Davik and the swoopers...there's all sorts of scum down there, Outcasts the least you should worry about," he grimaced, halting his glass halfway. "I don't think there's any viable business for independent mercs like you down there. I'd forget about it if I were you - there's plenty of profit to be made around here."

Vren offered a tight nod, pretending to actually acknowledge it.

"I appreciate the advice. While we are on the topic, tell me more about the Rakghoul disease. We heard rumours of there being a cure?"

Garouk shook his head with a musing smile.

"Not officially. Unofficially, that's the kind of talk that can make you magically disappear."

Vren arched his brow at him quizzically.

"The Sith come knocking on your door in the middle of the night and – puff, you're gone. Just like that, never to be heard from again. Anyway, far too much trouble for a tired old man like me."

"The Sith don't concern me," Vren dismissed with annoyance, pressing forward. "Apparently they have a cure, though."

Now it was Garouk's turn to arch his eyebrows in surprise. A fake one, Vren imagined.

"Could be. Or it could be just Sith propaganda."

"Whatever for? You said yourself Sith have little influence beyond Upper City."

Garouk gave a knowing smile, placing some credit ships on the counter for the bartender.

"The Sith may not have that much _direct_ influence down here, but they can still get you if they really want to. The occupation is backed by some powerful families, the kind that have been ruling this planet for centuries. Just a little something to keep in mind."

Vren mulled over this momentarily.

"You seem to know quite a lot on current affairs."

"I'm just an old Pazaakhead, and you hear a lot of things if you've been playing for as long as I have."

"Indeed."

Vren doubted Pazaak was the only game this man was involved in, and he appeared to be quite a player. The sudden silence was cut as Garouk stretched half-heartedly, glancing about the busy Cantina.

"Well, it's been nice chatting with you, but I better get back to the cards. Maybe someone'll buy some rare decks from an old veteran."

Carth put a hand on the old man's arm, just as he was rising.

"Just one more thing; does the name Sandral mean anything to you?"

Garouk paused, his eyes flickering over Carth's face for a moment. Brief as it was, it was long enough for Vren to suspect the veracity of his next words.

"No, I can't say that it does. Who is that?"

Carth shook his head.

"Nevermind."

Garouk made a pensive sound, still keeping his idle gaze on him.

"You coming for a match in the Upper City Cantina tonight?"

Vren flashed a briefly bemused expression as Garouk turned his eyes to him expectantly.

"Which one?"

"The usual. There's a new guy coming, an off-world merchant that likes to bet big."

Vren put his hand on his shoulder as they turned toward the main lobby.

"We will see."

They separated outside, with Garouk quickly disappearing into the diverse crowd rolling across the walkway. Vren took a moment to stare over the precipital decline of the speeder lane glittering far over to the open right, orbited by many smaller, swoop bike tracks like a complex helix. Carth joined him.

"Do you really think that datacube holds something important?"

Vren half-turned to Carth as he spoke, the flashing strips of light passing over them from the direction of the lane below. Carth kept his eyes firmly in the distance, absently processing some thought or other.

"Maybe."

"We have other priorities, you know."

With a start, Carth turned to him meaningfully, as if snapping from some distant dream.

"I know. Let's move out."

X X X

It always started somewhere in the middle, as if being thrown into an ice-cold lake of liquid gas. Just an echo, that which was remembered after the first flow faded away.

He was waiting expectantly, bleak walls distant in the warm dimness. The floor and, he realized, much of his modestly clothed body was painted in obscure symbols, black and vermilion melting into each other seamlessly. As he strained to make sense of elusive symbols, he came to see them as writhing entities, grafted to his skin more as a substance than any sort of form. This only intensified the odd sensation he felt. He was not afraid, but immersed in a curious emotion – a mixture of discomfort and anxious familiarity.

There were sentients – all humans, he noted, kneeling in a half circle from the center where he stood. Women first line, and then men, all naked and sporting layered tattoos on their bodies, all motionless.

Then forward was the shadow, thick and glossy as if it could be cut with a knife, and somehow – breathing. The culmination of the senses overtook him completely, assembling into realization with gradual progression like he was only half-awake. The great beast stood before him like a pillar of insurmountable ancient will, its eyes a vortex of eternal reflection. It moved as his thoughts moved, both incomprehensible, and veiled to his lucid scrutiny.

The beast spoke like fractured glass, the voice unheard, with black ichor oozing from its composite jaws. And he listened, all the while hearing the echoes of her voice suffused in the undertone. He did not understand the language, caustic and peeling as it sounded, but understood what was being spoken.

Someone else was there with him, standing next to him on the podium, yet blurred to his senses, furthering the sensation of being trapped inside the surface layers of some stranger. Between the senses and the conscious mind, enough to witness everything but without the capability to interpret any of it. It was most frustrating.

The beast receded into the subtle shadows, and the burning abated. His senses were washed with a stream of euphoria in the wake of this, and he looked up. Two angular birds were perched on the top of the highest pillar, each staring in opposite direction.

He spread his hands as the Force streamed from him and back into the dismal shades, and addressed the gathered in a voice that disappeared from his memory as soon as it was heard.

But the words remained, as if burned into the inside of his skull and defiantly refusing to be read. Still, he knew the final phrase, even as the gathered rose and began chanting in euphoria, each carrying a cylinder of cold metal reverentially before them.

"The Sith will rise again...may the Darkness conquer _all_!"

Vren awoke with a violent twitch, half-articulated cry freezing on his lips. It took a moment to distinguish the realities, sudden bright light driving the dream further away.

"What? What is it?"

Carth was already sitting up in his bed next to the bedroom door, blaster in hand and looking utterly disheveled and confused. But collected enough to engage any potential threat. Vren exhaled heavily, rubbing his eyes with the back of one hand in a calming effort.

"Nothing. Just a dream," he said softly, trying very hard to keep the already dissolving fragments from completely slipping away.

Carth relaxed with a tired sound, putting the blaster back to the shelf next to his bed and flicked off the lights again.

"Yeah? What about?"

"I don't really remember. There were...naked women," he frowned, with a distinct snort of amusement coming from across the room. "And...men?"

"Huh, no wonder you woke up screaming," Carth's attempt at humour was met with silence.

Vren couldn't shake the feeling that something important has eluded his mind, and coupled with some unspecifiable sensation of lingering dread, it unsettled him even further. Such dreams, fleeing his memory as soon as he would awake, and leaving nothing but frustrating shards behind, were becoming more often in the past few weeks. Ever since he boarded Endar Spire he had at least a few such episodes each week, and they seemed to grow in intensity and oddness ever since he woke up on this planet. Must be all the stress, he dismissed doubtfully, even though the situation wasn't _that_ extraordinarily exhausting when compared to his past missions.

Still, it was irritating at best, and he doubted he would get much more sleep tonight. Which was just as well, he considered as he glanced at the large dimmed windows; the sky was already brightening with coming dawn.

"Where are you going?" Carth's characteristically wary voice stopped him in the door.

"Out, to refresh myself. I've a fight scheduled this evening anyhow, and there is much to be done before then."

Carth dropped back down on the bed, mulling over this broodingly. After a minute or so he gave a frustrated sigh, figuring that was as much sleep as he would get for the night. He hastily dressed himself and splashed some soundwaves into his face in the refresher, then emerged in the living room to find Vren going through stretching and routine exercises. He threw himself on the torn armchair, his hands instinctively going for a dysfunctional focusing chamber lying on the table. His brow furrowed in some troubling thought as he idly tinkered with the part.

"Maybe," he started, then paused, as if debating what to say. "Maybe you should reconsider that dueling business. It's attracting too much attention."

Vren straightened to look at him curiously.

"I disagree."

"So far we've been lucky."

Vren finally stopped his exercise, dropping out of a balanced low stance to shoot him a pointed look.

"Luck has got nothing to do with it. We will not get off this planet by hiding in backalleys and dilapidated apartments. Or find Bastila, for that matter."

"I know, but," Carth's glance followed him helplessly as he walked past him to the lockers. "We've got to keep a low profile. The Sith are actively looking for us, especially after that uniform catastrophe."

Vren frowned to himself, taking out a vibrosword and slamming the metal door shut.

"Catastrophe? I thought it was rather successful operation. We got the uniforms and managed to reach the Lower City. I would hardly call that catastrophic."

Carth was already rubbing his forehead in tired displeasure.

"You know what I mean. The patrols are doubled in the area, even more so after our stint with that platoon."

Vren dismissed such concerns with an off-handed wave, fastening on his armour as Carth watched on.

"Lower City is torn by swoop gang wars, making it that much more difficult for the Sith to effectively patrol," he paused to look up at Carth with a driven glint in his eye. "And that much easier for us to move about."

"If we don't get killed by either side first."

Vren was silent as he fastened on his weapons, eliciting a dramatic sigh from Carth and making him turn his thoughts in other directions. He pulled something from the insides of his armoured jacket.

"I wonder what's in this holocube," Carth said after a time, staring at the angular object in his hand thoughtfully. "ID markings are all etched off. The only thing left is the factory serial number."

"Most likely some information that could be sold on black market for a lot of credits, if the trouble those Sith went by to retrieve it is anything to go by."

Carth frowned solemnly.

"Which means it could hold some sensitive tactical information. We should get and read its contents as soon as possible!"

Vren watched him as he put the holocube into a built-in wall locker, locking and reinforcing it with some metal panels.

"Don't get excited just yet. It could be something completely unrelated to the Sith, and Frelok and his men were just after some bonus on the side. It wouldn't be surprising if some officers were trying to earn some easy credits on the proliferating criminal underground here. Martial law does make such things easier for certain parties, after all."

Carth paused at the locker, his mind in some distant thoughtscape.

"Maybe. That officer mentioned something about a scanner log," he turned around with a grim look. "But we'll think about that when we find Bastila and return to the Fleet."

Vren pointed an approving finger at him, already moving to the door.

"Quite right."

Beige corridors of the apartment building were as scarcely populated as one would expect from alien-infested building at late morning. Carth perused the half-legal Twi'lek merchant's wares idly as Vren got caught up in another caustic argument with the building's janitor.

Carth shot them a disapproving scowl as more sharp words floated up to him. For someone who was supposed to excel in stealth and subtlety, this man had an unnervingly active confrontational streak. A sudden thought that he might not be who he claimed he was stealed its way into Carth's mind, but he quickly dismissed it. Ship's logs don't lie, after all, and neither do personnel folders.

_"I hope my wares are to your liking,"_ Larrim spoke lightheartedly, noticing Carth's gloomy expression.

"What? Oh no, I was thinking about something else."

_"Feel free to ask anything if something catches your eye."_

Carth half-nodded, studying the white contours of a personal energy shield. Larrim noticed his interest, moving in for the kill.

_"That's state of the art personal shielding, the best you'll find anywhere on this planet. I just have a few units, since the Sith tightened their control over illegal merchandise."_

Carth made a non-committal sound, having seen better designed and more powerful shielding units in his time in the Fleet. Still, one couldn't be overly selective in a place like this.

"How much?"

_"For you, my friend, special discount; 325 credits."_

"That's a little expensive for an ordinary shield unit."

Larrim gasped in faked outrage.

_"Expensive? Ordinary? There is no one else in the Upper City you can get personal shields from, and that's a fact!"_ his demeanor quickly shifted as Carth began to return the unit back on the stand. _"Okay, how about I lower the already great price, since we're neighbours? How does 260 credits sound?"_

"It sounds like I'll take it," Carth said crisply, reaching for his credit chip.

"You bought a shield?"

Carth whirled in surprise, meeting Vren's indifferent stare.

"Yeah," he quickly fastened the unit to his wrist, disguising it under the armour's sleeve. "Should come in handy."

Vren nodded with some mild sound, waiting for Carth to finish the transaction.

"What was that fight you had with the janitor again?"

"Nothing worth dwelling on," Vren dismissed idly. "He attempted to shift his responsibility again, by accusing me of hindering his work."

Carth grimaced in disapproval.

"We should try and not make enemies here. Maybe we'll need him sometime."

Vren didn't appear to be listening, gradually slowing down his gait. Carth watched him with a pang of annoyance.

"Vren?"

"Wait," he stopped, appearing thoughtful.

Carth was immediately wary, his eyes never ceasing from scanning the surroundings.

"What's wrong?"

"Do you remember..." Vren started, but trailed off as he turned back toward one of the hallways.

Carth scowled after him in confusion, but followed still.

"What are you doing?" he began with scolding tone, noting the apartment before which Vren stopped. "We've already been here. If you think you can-"

"Do you remember what that man said, _this_ man?" he nodded toward the apartment door behind him. "He was hiding from Davik. I am fairly certain there is a bounty on his head."

Carth mulled over this darkly.

"But if he is, it's Davik's bounty-"

"If he is who I think he is, then he owes credits, in which case it is irrelevant whether it is a government institution or a private business. Now open this door."

Carth fidgeted with a magnetic tunneler in his hands, eyes darting around periodically.

"Why don't you use the door buzzer for a change?"

Vren let out an annoyed breath.

"I doubt very much he will open the door if he is in hiding here. So open it, and stop wasting our precious time."

Carth gave him a sharp look, turning back to the lock. It was opened quickly, and he pocketed the tools, readying his blasters. Vren glanced around the hallway one last time, then nodded quickly to him.

"Watch my back."

The door slid open, revealing the familiar apartment, with only difference from their last visit the different amount of trash on the living room table and haphazardly strewn clothes.

"Good morning!" Vren announced almost jovially as they stepped into the apartment, Carth keeping himself close to the door.

A startled man, again familiar to them, emerged from the bedroom, clearly frightened. He clutched a blaster pistol in his hand pointedly, devouring Vren and Carth with his wide eyes.

"Wha-you again?"

Vren studied him critically, keeping his posture rigid like a spring.

"So you remember us? Good, because we have scarce time for re-introductions. We have come on business. Largo, I presume?"

The man grew even more apprehensive at Vren's confident tone, and his knuckles whitened over the blaster handle at the mention of his name.

"I've already paid you to leave me alone," he said thickly, quietly, as he glanced toward the door, where Carth's grim stare intercepted him.

"Quiet! You are a wanted man, Largo, do you know what that means?" his eyes flashed dangerously as he took a step forward and Largo stumbled backwards. "Do you comprehend the implications of that?"

Largo shook his head in some desperate denial.

"All I need is two hundred credits, please...if you turn me in Davik will kill me! Please!"

"I am not interested in your troubles, imbecile, much less to supply you with credits!"

He grabbed the handle of the pistol on his belt meaningfully.

"No! I can't let you do this!" cornered, Largo raised his blaster with determined despair.

Vren's leg shot out just as the blaster fired, kicking the weapon from Largo's hands, with the bolt scorching a black mark on a metallic locker. Largo's expression of surprise was short-lived as another straight kick struck him in the abdomen to double him over in a flash of pain. Vren immediately delivered the third kick without pause, slamming into the side of Largo's head with the ball of the foot. The power of the fast blow sent him crashing sideways over some chairs.

They both immediately followed after, with their weapons drawn and trained on him resolutely. After a few tense moments, Vren holstered his vibrosword with a pointed glance at Carth, crouching over the motionless Largo. Carth kept his blaster carefully aimed at the merchant as Vren turned him over, revealing the deep purple bruise on his left temple, just under his hairline. A thin line of blood trickled from his ear slowly. Vren checked the pulse as Carth ran a nervous hand through his hair with a sigh, putting his weapon away.

"He is dead. It must have cracked the bone."

He rose with a shrug, glancing at grave Carth.

"I don't like it, I don't like this one bit," Carth was looking around bleakly.

Vren went to retrieve Largo's blaster, from where it landed behind an armchair as it deflected off the wall.

"I suppose we will not need any evidence for Zax, given his intelligence network. But check the bedroom; there could be useful things for us."

Carth looked like was about to say something, but then thought better of it. He spared another quick look at the body, then disappeared into the bedroom.

X X X

Navash breathed in full lungs of fresh air, so cold and invigorating in the expansive morning. He had been out in the Enclave's north gardens to meditate with the first rays of a rising sun. There was much work ahead of him this day, many exhausting meetings with Masters and counsels with the Jedi. It was ironic, he thought as he slowly rose from his crouch, since this was supposed to be a relaxed coordination assignment.

He slowly picked up pace toward the Enclave's sloped entrance. He should have learned by now that there is no such a thing as relaxed assignment for a Jedi, not in these times, and most certainly not in this place.

He paused his step with the presence of another.

A man was standing at the edge of the Enclave grounds, staring out into the valley below from under an old tree, its roots sprawled through the soil at garden's low wall. He frowned, sending out a gentle probe through Force as he teetered on the edge of a decision, his frown deepening at the response. Somewhat uncertainly he deviated from his plotted path, gaining confidence with each step. He came up to the shorter man soundlessly, briefly glimpsing at the gleaming land below, where the stranger's eyes rested.

His appearance was deceptive enough; grey-haired older man with set lines razing his aged face, and his apparel even more so; a simple Jedi robe without overcoat, with nothing to deviate from myriad of other Jedi filling the halls of this compound. Even the vitality and latent strength he exuded were no different from any other Force adept bathing in the Force currents for so long.

Navash cleared his throat pointedly, but lightly.

"Excuse me," he said politely, gracefully turning to the man. "I would think all the Jedi would be inside the academy for morning meditation and training."

The man turned to him slowly, years of settled serenity reflecting on his face.

"Not all, apparently. I have always believed Force can be better felt and perceived out in the open, in the sweep of the plains and brimming forests, than inside offices and stone corridors."

"Those, too, are a part of nature, as much as any forest."

"So they are. But they do not offer the same realization, nor the same view."

Navash nodded slowly, his eyes locked on the man's slightly bemused expression.

"I hope you don't mind me saying, but...you seem terribly familiar."

The old man inclined his head respectfully.

"We _have_ met before."

Navash stared at him, saying nothing for a few long moments. The man finally spoke again.

"I am Nemo."

Navash arched his brow pointedly.

"I know. To be honest, I am a bit surprised to see a man of your...reknown here."

"We all have our duties, Jedi Knight. I go where my path takes me."

"We all do, as we follow the will of the Force. So you have come here...on Council's behalf?"

Nemo smiled a half-smile as Navash watched him intently, turning back to stare over the expanse of fields and rolling hills.

"Have you heard of the recent disturbances? Of the creeping darkness spreading through the farmlands?"

Navash glanced out at the golden land, the sun now completely arisen over the horizon.

"I have...felt it. Are you implying you are here because of it?"

Nemo looked at him with almost a surprise, then his visage cooled.

"No. But neither are you, Jedi Knight. Or are you?"

Navash withstood his pointed stare evenly, furrowing his brow a bit at the address.

"I am Navash Orai."

Nemo smiled a small smile.

"I know."

Navash was silent for a moment, hiding his surprise well as he studied the old man curiously. His words were carefully guarded as he spoke.

"And to answer your question, one could say a Jedi is always on the lookout for darkness these days. But no, I am not here specifically for this."

Nemo acknowledged with a soft grunt.

"A different kind of darkness, then."

Navash looked like he might respond for a moment, but in the end said nothing. They watched out over the morningrise for another silent minute.

"Do you plan to stay here for long?"

Nemo gave him a sidelong glance at the sudden question.

"Long enough to serve my purpose. And you?"

Navash felt Nemo's tone indicated he didn't really expect an answer. He got one nonetheless.

"Not long, really. I am...expected back on Coruscant."

"Matters that cannot be delayed," Nemo spoke after a moment, matter-of-factly.

"Yes."

Another palpable pause, before Navash spoke, seemingly a thought-debris of idle conversation.

"Isn't it unfortunate how many Jedi have fallen to the lures of the Dark Side?"

Nemo was nodding in quiet response, slowly turning his curious stare back on the taller Jedi.

"And to think," Navash continued, each word carefully measured and calculated. "It was all a doing of a single pair. It boggles the mind, almost."

"With Force, great things are possible," Nemo finally spoke, his voice more grave in tone. "Terrible things. Normally they occur when the wielder forgets of this simple notion."

"Do you think what they did had some merit, perhaps, their reasons notwithstanding?"

The abrupt, if evenly posed, question made Nemo cock his eyebrows in some indeterminable reaction. Long moment passed before he answered.

"Why are you asking me, when the answer is plainly obvious?"

"I wish to know what you think of it," Navash persisted.

Nemo's eyes were locked with his now, allowing nothing but some light aloofness to shine through.

"They disregarded the Council, and many people died. If they didn't, many people would die."

"That does not answer my question."

"Do you _really_ wish to explore hypothetical alternatives?"

Navash held his gaze a little longer, then turned away and changed the subject.

"I trust I will see you at the midday conclave?"

Nemo shook his head gently, corners of his mouth stuck upwards in a lingering trace of some emotion or other. Navash leveled his gaze knowingly.

"Matters that cannot be delayed?"

Nemo slowly nodded, watching him quietly. Navash took this as a cue to return to his errands, making to leave.

"May the Force be with you."

"And you, Jedi Knight, and you."

X X X

"This is a regular maze," Vren stared into his glass despondently, scoffing in some distant calculation. "We need some sort of transportation if we have any hopes of tracking down those bounties."

"Maybe we should look into other things first, like finding Bastila," Carth said almost accusingly.

Vren broke from his transfixion and shot him a quick glance, then finished his sour non-alcoholic drink, pushing the empty glass across the table in irritation.

"We really should stop coming here, the drinks are far too expensive."

Carth shrugged off-handedly.

"It's still a lot cheaper than in Upper City Cantinas."

"Yes, but I get discount in most of them because I am a duelist," he paused, glancing over at the smoky entrance to the Pazaak rooms, where a minor skirmish had erupted. "Although the Upper City is never this exciting."

Carth snorted denouncingly.

"Exciting isn't what I'd call it," he paused his cyclical scanning of their surroundings for a spark of thought. "Do you think we could lure some of those swoop thugs to fight the Sith guards, just enough to distract them?"

Vren looked up at him with calculating eyes.

"I don't know. But one thing is certain – we will not get past that Undercity checkpoint without authorisation papers."

"Great," Carth ran a hand through his hair, exhaling in distress.

"We might," Vren mused further, leaning back in his seat as he glanced about slowly. "Be able to overpower those guards, if we can get something to disable the automated turrets..."

Carth shot him a reluctant look.

"You think they won't know it in the base if we break through, and that's a big 'if' right there? There'll be shock troopers crawling all over the place in a ten kilometer radius, cutting us off from surface."

Vren made a pondering sound. Agreeing, but annoyed still.

"In that case, we should try to establish some contacts within the local swoop gang scene. Someone _has_ to know something, a secret passageway or somesuch, and they might be able to set us up with some better equipment while we are at it."

"That's probably the best idea," Carth's eyes flickered around constantly, his hand never far from his holstered weapons. "Didn't that Twi'lek girl say something about being in a gang? Hidden Beks, right? Maybe she can help us out here."

Vren's fingers rapped on the table's smooth surface slowly.

"Perhaps. But we would have to find her first, for which we have little starting points. The Undercity is easy to disappear in, and we can't afford to waste more time by waiting for her here. I suppose it doesn't hurt if we ask around."

"If anyone's willing to talk."

"We shall see," he glanced at his chronometer. "My fight is due soon. Let's head up."

The trek back to the Upper City was somewaht uneventful, involving retrieving the uniforms from their hiding place near the lift and then, once past the checkpoint, returning back to the apartment to change into more suiting attire. They nary spoke a word during this time, each engrossed in calculating the best possible outcome for reaching Bastila, while keeping the worst firmly in mind. Indeed, their brooding visages made them blend in nicely with local populace, who had a constant black cloud of Sith occupation hanging over their weary faces, lurking behind every thin smile.

They made their way through the large Cantina in uneasy silence. As much as one could say that for a place where loud music and continuous chatter were considered background noise. Carth caught a glance at Christya as they passed the Pazaak tables, especially noting her odd behaviour.

"Why is that woman always avoiding me?"

Carth was genuinely surprised.

"She's acting like I'm gonna hit her, or something."

Vren just shrugged innocently.

"Who knows? You know how these Tarisian nobles are."

Carth gave an unintelligible sound, glancing at the woman suspiciously. She noticed his stare and paled, quickly turning away to disappear in the crowd.

"Again, bet on me all the credits we have," Vren's voice brought him from his frown. "And be sure to watch me triumph."

Carth made a noncommittal noise, idly observing the queue going into the arena galleries.

"I think I'll just watch from a Cantina monitor, I don't feel like going into all that crowd. But are you sure you want me to bet all the credits again?"

Vren sent him a pointed look.

"Yes! We are low on budget, we must maximize our income whenever the opportunity presents itself."

"Alright, if you say so."

Vren nodded toward the guarded combatant wing entrance.

"I have to go and prepare myself. Be seeing you after the duel."

"Be careful."

The betting counter was moderately crowded, mostly with the usual gamblers and chance-players, given the low-class and relative lack of reknown of the duelists.

Carth did as asked, except he kept a share of the credits, _his_ share, in the safety of his pocket, betting the rest on Vren. Then he sought out the nearest free monitor booth to watch the show.

X X X

Vren steadied his breath into a familiar pattern, keeping it above the normal intake, but fast enough to provide needed bursts of motion without tiring him too quickly. His eyes scanned the surrounding crowds, up and above the polished arena walls.

Across from him, Gerlon Two-Fingers stood motionlessly, wearing a scowl. His hand hung perfectly still over the hilt of his blaster, a visage that would once strike dread into his opponents. Now, it was just a painful reminder of faded glory.

The announcer's voice boomed out some inane commentary or other, with neither the combatants, nor majority of the audience paying much attention to it. What they were all waiting for, was the characteristic low siren that announced the start of the duel. Even though it came all too soon, the last seconds dragged like Hutts on sedatives for the tense duelists.

When the siren finally sounded, Vren exploded into motion, breaking his run with occasional roll and slide to avoid the precise bolts raining from his opponent. One or two hits managed to clip his limbs as he stormed toward Gerlon, fortunately nothing that would incapacitate him.

Despite his near-legendary precision with blasters, Gerlon's melee skills were far from lacking. One's had to be at least adequate, if one was to remain in the ring for as long as he did.

The barrage of fire abated as Vren came up into critical proximity, unsheathing his swords with a fluid motion that extended into an opportune strike. Gerlon had just enough time to drop his blaster and jump aside, drawing his own vibrosword.

Their weapons clashed with tiny sparks and that specific sound that churned the crowd into a frenzy. Rushed into a blur, they fought furiously and the audience actually began cheering for their respective champion.

Vren deflected the first few combinations, sweeping aside and under Gerlon's defensive circle as he lunged forward, then snapped his leg into his opponent's knee. Realizing Vren's intention at the last moment, Gerlon twisted awkwardly, just enough to keep himself afoot. Nevertheless the blow that would normally crack his knee joint managed to seriously imbalance him, an advantage Vren capitalized on. Locking still struggling Gerlon's sword with his blades he delivered a forehead strike to Gerlon's face, breaking his cheek open and cracking his nose.

Then immediately pushing forward and downward, he broke free the lock with Gerlon's weapon and pulled back his swords in a scissorlike maneuver that would normally decapitate his opponent cleanly. The suppressors mostly negated the kinetic energy of the blades, but the blood still gushed out openly, spraying Vren's face and upper torso in thin fine spray.

Gerlon's expression was one of horror and disbelief, his eyes as wide as they were turbulent with intense emotion. His sword had a clear path to Vren's head now, but it was already too late. The already weakened blow just brushed the side of his head as his own sword rushed forward again, to jab viciously under Gerlon's jaw and send him to his back with a thud of finality.

Gerlon's sword clattered next to him dully, immediately drowned in the announcer's booming voice and the subsequent cheer of the audience.

Vren prodded the side of his jaw, under the ear, as he walked past the medical team rushing to collect his defeated opponent, feeling an inflammation there. Normally, the blade would draw blood, but the energy suppressors did an adequate job of weakening the already feeble attack.

The scorch marks on his legs and side looked a bit more disconcerting, though, and he already felt the familiar ache where the blaster's energy spread through.

"That looked intense. Everything alright?"

Vren waved Carth's comments off as he hurried out of the arena to collect his purse.

"He is a better shot than I expected."

"Do you need a medpack?"

Vren shook his head irately as he collected the purse from grumbling Hutt, limping slightly.

"We can't waste them like this, and then run out in combat. I will be alright."

Carth reluctantly replaced the injectors on his belt, wetting his lips anxiously.

"I thought he had you there for a moment."

Vren shot him a disgusted look.

"Don't be absurd. I am a professional soldier, Carth. These people are fighting for sport, while I am an elite RSTF commando. What makes you think any of them could stand a chance against me?"

Carth arched his brow pointedly.

"Not if they have to fight your ego they don't."

Vren looked around briskly, pausing at the dueling lounge doors to scoff at the poorly-lit corridor.

"I am going to go scout for some information in the Lower City. Meet me in Javyar's Cantina at 2200."

"You're going back to the apartment first, right?" Carth sounded uncertain, even suspicious.

"Of course. Store the uniform at the usual spot in the slums."

Carth nodded quickly, watching him with a scowl.

"You sure you're alright?"

"Yes," Vren dismissed Carth's concern, instinctively removing his hand from where it was probing his side adamantly. "I suggest you loiter around here some more, keeping your ears open."

Carth crossed his arms in discontent and for a moment Vren thought he might again object about them separating. He said nothing of the sort, despite his expression radiating just that.

"No, I think I'll go and check out the local arms stores. We're running low on powerpacks."

He grimaced as a drunk Rodian shuffled past with a hacking cough.

"Alright," Vren brought his attention back to himself. "Use the comm if something crops up."

Carth's face tightened immediately.

"Such as?"

Vren looked at him curiously.

"_Anything_. We still need to get off this planet."

Somewhat placated, Carth mumbled something unintelligible, then they dispersed through the crowd.

X X X

"You're new here, aren't you?"

Carth paused the glass at his lips, his eyes darting sidelong in the direction of the voice.

After spending far too much time in various stores, looking for the best deal, he stopped in Javyar's Cantina. He was a little early of their appointed time, but he resisted the impulse to contact Vren. So he settled himself at one of the least crowded bars, enjoying a slow drink. As much as one could enjoy himself on a Sith world, amongst criminals and smugglers, that is.

He slowly put his glass back down, cautiously turning to the woman addressing him. She wore a smile, but nothing pleasant. He didn't like it in the least.

"What makes you say that?"

She leaned one hand on the bartop casually, fingers hanging close to the handle sticking out of an underarm holster. Teasingly so, almost.

"I know most high-profile contractors in this sector. And you," she looked him over unnervingly. "Are definitely high-profile. Am I wrong?"

Carth studied her face closely, as if it could provide some clues as to her intentions. They weren't of the pleasure kind, that much was obvious.

"Maybe. Who wants to know, and why?"

"Who I am, is not important. A colleague contractor, let's say."

"A mercenary," Carth amended, trying to keep disdain from his voice.

The woman's eyebrows shot up in insistence.

"No. A _contractor_."

Carth let out a dismissive breath, taking a sip of his drink, all the while keeping an inconspicuous eye on her. She was obviously someone who could handle herself, if her sidearms and armour were to go by. A bounty hunter, or perhaps a mercenary, Carth surmised. He frowned mildly. She was also very familiar.

"Look, I don't know you, and, no offense, but I'd rather be left alone. I don't feel like small talk right now."

"Me neither," her eyes steeled, faint scar on the side of her chin stretching. "I wish to discuss business."

Carth almost choked on his drink, shooting her a startled look. His right hand fell to his thigh lightly, over the holster of his blaster.

"What business?"

"The kind that pays off, nothing a man like you would shy from."

"I don't like where this conversation is going."

"I am offering you to earn a lot of credits, for a relatively small-risk work. Many here would kill for such a chance."

Carth narrowed his eyes at her.

"So you just walk up to strangers and ask them? And you just happened to come across me?"

Something akin to smile twisted over her lips momentarily.

"Let's just say I have a good eye in judging people. You're no different from any other contractor in this place, at least on first glance, with added difference that you're probably an off-worlder, trapped here by the quarantine. Am I right?"

All alarms in Carth's mind went off simultaneously, but he suppressed them; there was still a chance she was just very observant with a keen mind.

"No. And even if you were, which you're not, why would it matter if I'm an off-worlder or not?"

She leaned in closer; Carth could distinctly detect the familiar scent of antiseptic, mixed in with something spicy.

"Let's just say I need someone outside of local playground," she smiled toothily.

Carth drew back a little, eyeing her guardedly.

"For what?"

She straightened in her stool, observing him calculatively.

"Combat support, let's say for now. I need to be sure first, before I lay out the details."

"Of what?"

"That you are really committed," she paused at Carth's dismissive frown. "What if I say I can get you off this planet, through the quarantine?"

Carth's face flashed with some momentary expression, too brief to be noticed by most people as anything other than a passing twitch. The woman caught it, knowing exactly what it meant.

"What makes you think I want to get off this planet?" Carth kept his voice flat and tightly edged.

She smiled knowingly.

"Every off-worlder wants to get off this forgotten world, especially someone in your business."

Carth kept his outward façade nonchalant, running through possibilities silently. Could this be the chance they were looking for? He dismissed the possibility immediately; far too much would have to be put at stake, for too small a chance. Still, he played along, perhaps there was something he could learn from her.

"I suppose you won't explain how you can break the Sith military blockade until I agree to this job you're offering?"

"Like I said, I need to be sure you're committed. But don't waste your breath trying to convince me of anything. Maybe you need to get off the planet, maybe you don't. Maybe you're interested in earning some credits, maybe you're not," she rose slowly, leaning closer in the process. "We both know there's little business in the Lower City for outworlders, but a lot of local competition."

Carth licked his lips, watching her analytically. Awkwardly, he half-rose with her.

"You're leaving? You haven't heard my answer yet."

She appraised him again, with a calculating look, then scanned the Cantina quickly.

"I can see you're not interested, maybe you need some time for yourself to weigh my offer. I'll be around the Martis' Supply Depot for the next couple of evenings. Think about it."

Carth stared after her, his mind working furiously. She could be a Sith spy, or, worse yet, working for some local crimelord that somehow realized they were Republic soldiers.

His scowl deepened.

She could be setting him up with a trap. Maybe she was a bounty hunter that somehow got wind of them being Republic soldiers, and was trying to cash in. She could be working for Davik. Bastila must have been captured and tortured, and she gave out their precise descriptions to the Sith. No, that didn't make sense, they'd just send an entire platoon out after them. Or would they? Maybe she had nothing to do with the Sith, or local gangs. She could be part of some elaborate plot against the Sith government, and thought him a Sith spy. Maybe she just killed people for the hell of it. Or just someone trying to seduce him into a trap, then rob him of all his possessions.

So many possibilities, and not one pleasant. And that scratching unease continued gnawing at the back of his mind. Why was she so familiar?

A soft beep from his chronometer broke his thoughts, reminding him of the time. He looked around, then, with a sigh, emptied his glass and threw some credit chips on the counter. He would have to worry about this later.

Selectively scanning the crowd, he made his way over to the back, toward the Pazaak rooms. Predictably, he found Vren debating something lightly with Gelrood, the local Pazaak shark and informant. He acknowledged Carth with a quick nod, waving him over. Vren was just finishing up whatever business he had with the shady Pazaak player, taking his leave and rising as Carth came over. He glanced at Gelrood suspiciously before turning to Vren.

"Any news?"

Vren nodded sharply and guided him to a nearby table in the main Cantina area, not wishing to discuss anything in the Pazaak rooms.

"I may have secured us a passage into Hidden Bek base," he said as they seated themselves down with a drink.

Carth was surprised at this.

"Really? How? I thought Mission-"

"Through Gelrood. I gently implied that we are merchants, seeking the end distributor in the Lower City for our merchandise."

Carth frowned in confusion.

"What kind of merchants?"

Vren studied him from the rim of his glass, sipping the juice idly.

"The illegal kind. You know..."

Carth took a sharp breath, as if to say something, but then seemed to change his mind.

"Well I guess it doesn't really matter, since we're already hunted by the planetary authorities. And _especially_ if it gets us some allies," he glanced around the Cantina as he took a sip of his own drink. "I still don't think the gangs will do much help..."

"We shall see, said the blind man," Vren said curtly, earning a strange look from Carth. "In any event, we have other business to attend to first."

"You mean the bounties?"

Vren ignored the obviously reluctant subtone in Carth's voice.

"Yes. Gelrood also gave me, with sufficient persuasion, of course, some pointers as to where we could begin looking for the infamous Selven. There are rumours of sightings in Octagon district, not far from here."

"It's still too far to walk there."

Vren paused momentarily, exhaling slowly.

"We'll get a speeder then."

X X X

Carth let out an impatient breath. He knew separating was a bad idea, he never should have let Vren convince him otherwise! It has been over three hours since he went to scout out ahead, as he had said, and Carth was getting progressively more concerned. He was pacing around outside the Javvyar's Cantina, unable to bear the crowd and loud music anymore. Vren wasn't responding to his commlink, and he was seriously considering writing him off as another casualty, already forming some vague plans on how to find Bastila on his own.

An approaching land speeder caught the corner of his eye, namely the fact it was slowing down and heading toward his spot of the walkway. A flash of frenetic anxiety washed over him, instantly subdued by will and decades of warfare.

His hand tightened around the hilts of his pistols, but keeping them holstered. His posture tightened into a balanced, quick-response stance as his eyes followed the approaching speeder. Just as he expected, it stopped next to him on the sidewalk, thickening the tension. It was impossible to glimpse of those within through the heavily tinted crystal glass. Passenger door slid open, and Carth's blasters shot from their holsters.

The next moment his visage of grim determination was replaced by instant surprise.

"Vren?"

"Do you mind not aiming your weapons at me?"

Carth quickly stashed away the pistols, his bafflement slowly wearing off.

"Where the hell have you been? And why aren't you answering your commlink?"

His anger was dulled somewhat as the full notion of the speeder hit him. Vren arched his brow at him strangely, idling the engine.

"Get in."

"Where did you get this?" he ran his hand over the smooth curves incredulously.

"Well, I know you don't _really_ want to hear the truth, so let's just say that some compassionate soul kindly lent it to me after I explained my predicament to him."

"Right. And I'm a Hutt."

Despite his disapproving tone, he got into the sleek speeder after he glanced around quickly, still looking decidely uncomfortable. Vren glanced at him sidelong as he steered the land speeder into traffic lineway, picking up speed.

"You mentioned something about commlinks?"

"Yeah, I buzzed you at least dozen times in the past hour. Why don't you answer?"

Vren ignored Carth's accusing tone, glancing at his wrist commlink.

"Odd. It appears to be malfunctioning," he shook it irately, pressing some buttons in mild frustration. "I'll have to look into it when we return to the apartment."

"Okay, just keep your eyes on the road please, I don't want to get killed like this," Carth said, trace of annoyance still lingering.

Vren flashed him an exasperated glimpse, focusing his attention back on the road. They fell into comfortable silence, the kind that only a soft humming of the engine and passing landscape can bring. River of lights rushing by mutely, the only sound the subdued hum of the airspeeder. Any trace of lineway or platform was lost in an ocean of blinking, buzzing lights below, with many convoys stretching on all sides around them, monumental buildings towering into impenetrable heights upward. It was hard to believe this was actually a sublevel, with platforms and buildings rising far beyond where the sky disappeared into darkness above.

It reminded Carth of some other place, now seeming so distant and clouded, as if from a slowly fading dream, and again he found himself having to consciously stop his thoughtflow. They had work to do now, plenty of time for sorrow later, faded and worn as it was.

"It's not far from here now," Vren's soft voice sailed through the lulling hum of the speeder, somehow shattering the quiet placidity.

Carth said nothing, just gave a half-nod with his complacent stare still somewhere in the blurred depths. Then he started, as if the words just registered.

"Where are we going?"

"Searching for transportation took longer than expected. We should head directly to the Bek base, and take care of the bounty later."

Carth nodded again, this time studying his face carefully.

"When we get there," Vren continued after a moment, taking his time. "Let me speak. Gelrood surely must have mentioned our conversation to the swoopers."

Carth pulled in a deep breath, crossing his arms and leaning his head on the back support.

"Sure."

Vren threw a suspicious look his way, but remained quiet. The lines of urban environment lost their glitter as the speeder slowed down, turning into a sideline level, over into a swoop track sublevel. The road here was much dirtier, and strewn with wreckages that looked alarmingly new. The building which they parked behind, one in a series of seemingly ancient complexes stretching in all directions, was buzzing with swoop activity, especially on the main road in front. Many unfriendly eyes of gang thugs followed them as they made their uneasy way to the entrance.

A human woman, most likely to be in the position of a doorman, stopped her conversation with a heavily tattooed Twi'lek and turned to them with a critical scowl.

Vren stepped forward confidently, keeping his tone curt and businesslike.

"We have business with your leader. We are expected."

The guard appraised them suspiciously, shifting into a challenging posture.

"Oh yeah? We'll see about that."

"We are here on Gelrood's behalf. He can vouch for us."

She hesitated momentarily, then turned around to speak into her communicator. Carth shot Vren a worried glance, but he just returned an everything-under-control quick nod. He turned to stare back at an Aqualish that was leering at them threateningly, holding his stare defiantly.

"Alright, you can go in," the woman said, and she seemed somewhat disappointed. "But don't do anything stupid, you're being watched!"

Vren snorted dismissively, boldly stepping inside. The main lobby spread out into two doors, the only currently open one flanked by a pair of scowling gang thugs. Their meaningfully held rifles silently repeated the doorwoman's warning. What waited on the other side could be best described as a cross between an improvised reception and a warehouse. Gang members milled about, either moving packages or just going off on some business, but no one seemed to be in any real hurry, and everyone could spare a glare.

The most obvious direction presented itself; the back of the large room, with table and few chairs scattered about, some computer terminals cluttered on it. Two individuals rose as they approached, an air of suspicion and that palpable unease lying heavily about. The man was quite obviously the leader, his manner and quiet confidence implying someone used to giving orders.

Vren quickly appraised him; a mid-aged dark-skinned human with what looked like cybernetic ocular implants, his overall aura and demeanor slightly less threatening and overbearing than one would expect from a gang leader.

Vren was not fooled for one moment, and he suspected Carth was neither, judging from the way he kept his hands resting on his holstered blasters tensely. Vren subtly assessed the man, seeking for tell-tale bulges and asymmetry, the suspect spots for concealed weapons.

The man's bodyguard seemed to make up in tenacity and attitude for her leader, her posture and pointedly held heavy blaster as she crossed her arms far less welcoming. Vren stepped up to the perceived leader, his Twi'lek bodyguard instantly blocking his path with a challenging glare.

"Zaerdra, please," the man spoke firmly, gently pushing her out of the way as he scrutinized Vren and Carth."I am Gadon Thek, leader of Hidden Beks. They tell me you're here on business."

"Yes," Vren kept his eyes in soft focus, mentally running over the most efficient scenarios to take them both out quickly, should the need arise. "Gelrood, I believe you know him, said you might be interested in some aftermarket merchandise, so to speak. He mentioned you have quite an influence in the Undercity traffic, something that interests us greatly."

Gadon seemed apprehensive as he spoke.

"Yes, Gelrood said you might drop by, and has personally guaranteed you're good. We're always looking for new business routes, but I don't remember him saying anything about the Undercity, though."

Vren smiled slowly.

"Well. You see, that was actually not entirely true. We are not _really_ black marketeers, looking for new venues."

Gadon's bodyguard immediately stepped forward in alarm.

"Gadon, they could be spies!"

Vren turned to her, his words full of caustic sarcasm.

"That's right, we merely came here for preliminary reconnaissance. Sith assault troops are already waiting outside, to blow your idiotic self away."

Carth nudged him in the ribs in warning, earning a glare. Zaerdra opened her mouth, unable to speak in rage. She already raised her blaster when Gadon interjected.

"Zaerdra, calm down! Put that away! You would do well to watch your mouth, stranger! Coming into my territory and threatening my people is not a good way to spark my interest."

"As long as it's sparked. We wouldn't come to this place if it weren't absolutely necessary, rest assured."

"We're Republic soldiers," Carth interrupted quickly before Vren got them both into an unresolvable situation.

Gadon arched his eyebrows slightly, some of the tension draining away.

"Really? I didn't think there were any survivors from the pods that crashed in the Undercity."

"Well, you know now. Your gang has been pillaging these escape pods, have you by any chance come across a woman, a Republic officer who must have survived?"

Gadon frowned.

"The Vulkars are the ones who have taken the majority of that territory for their own, and they're usually the ones that get the brunt of the salvage. But I know who you're talking about. The woman, she is a Vulkar slave now. Brejik is offering her as a grand prize at the upcoming swoop bike season opener."

Carth and Vren exchanged concerned looks.

"Don't worry, if she's being put up as a prize they won't...damage her. She's far too valuable for them as a trade and status good."

"That puts her at an advantage. Maybe she'll even figure out a way to break free by herself," Carth whispered, leaning in to Vren.

"Don't count on it," Vren murmured pessimistically, his eyes still trained on Gadon.

"But you want your woman back, right?" Gadon added quickly before either could say anything outloud. "I might have a way for you."

"Is that so?" Vren crossed his arms distrustfully. "Then by all means..."

"Like I said, the swoop bike opener is approaching soon, and Brejik's offering that Republic officer as a prize. Now, you probably heard about the recent war here between us and Vulkars. That's all Brejik's doing, but...that's another story."

"Yes, we _are_ aware of the swoop gang hostilities in the Lower City. Get to the point, please."

Zaerdra glared murderously at Vren's nonchalant tone, and Gadon scowled, but he continued nonetheless.

"What I'm trying to say, is that this race is very important to us, since the winner'll get the support of many smaller, fringe swoop groups and subsequently an upper hand in the conflict. We _need_ to win. We had a prototype swoop accelerator component developed, to give us that extra edge. The problem is, Vulkars stole it from us."

Vren exhaled slowly in rising annoyance.

"Yes, most fascinating. I still don't see how that will help me get the Republic captive back."

Carth grabbed his arm subtly, shooting him a pointed look.

"Simple," Gadon was unphased by Vren's hostile tone. "We need someone to get that swoop accelerator for us from the Black Vulkar base – and since the prize is the girl you're looking for, you can enter the race to win her back."

"And secure you your victory, how convenient. Why would you allow an outsider to run in such a delicate race for you?"

Gadon sighed wearily.

"Look, I'll be honest with you. That swoop accelerator is a prototype, meaning it's got about half the chance to blow up in your face as to take you to the finish line. I'm not willing to risk one of my men, and if something _does_ go wrong...then one of my riders can step in and hopefully get out on top."

"Pragmatic. You seem to have all angles covered, don't you?"

Gadon smiled bitterly at this.

"I have to. We can't afford any blunders in the situation we're in, and I won't allow Hidden Beks getting destroyed by Brejik and his thugs, for anyone's sake."

"So we don't really have a choice, do we?"

Gadon glanced at Carth, shrugging.

"In any event you'll need a sponsor if you want to enter the race to get your girl back. And I'm offering you a chance, something we'll both have benefit out of."

"Alright," Vren said with a tone of finality. "So let's review our agreement; we get you the swoop accelerator prototype, and you sponsor me in the swoop bike race season opener. Correct?"

Gadon nodded slowly.

"And this prototype is currently stored with Vulkars?"

"Yes...that's another thing we need to talk about. Their base is pretty heavily secured, at least from this level. You won't be able to get in through the front door, it'd be a suicide anyway."

"Then how are we supposed to get the accelerator back?" frustration was evident in Carth's voice.

Gadon smiled a small smile of a man with a plan.

"Through the Undercity. I've got it on pretty good authority that there's at least one hidden entrance to their base through the sewers there."

"The sewers? Terrific," Vren commented acidly.

Gadon ignored the comment, continuing quickly before Zaerdra interjected.

"But you'll need to get past the Sith security checkpoint. Those uniforms," he motioned toward them, as if they had the silvery suits on. "Won't do you much good."

Vren exchanged a wary look with Carth.

"And why is it that you believe we are in possession of such uniforms?"

Gadon smiled again, knowingly.

"I have my sources. Just the uniforms may have gotten you past the Upper City checkpoint, but Lower City security's much tighter. Especially since the Sith are looking for Republic fugitives. You'll need something solid, like authorisation papers."

Vren studied Gadon's face intently as he spoke.

"I presume you have them?"

"You presume correctly. I'll exchange them for the pair of uniforms."

"What use would you have with Sith uniforms?" Vren asked, immediately defensive.

"We like to be prepared for when the Sith start cracking down, and believe me, it has already started."

Vren stared at him in momentary silence, then nodded with a sharp exhale.

"Very well, you can have the suits."

He glanced at Carth quickly, then back to Gadon with a shrewd smile.

"Actually, we have four more uniforms you might be interested in."

Gadon looked up in surprise, his interest piqued. Vren smiled enterprisingly.

"And since we've just about exhausted the barter route, we might be willing to give up those uniforms for a fair price."

Gadon exchanged looks with Zaerdra, taking some time before answering.

"Alright, we could use any means we can get. How much do you want for those uniforms?"

"Oh, say 400 credits for a uniform, which sums up as 1600 for a set of four. Payment in credits only, at delivery of course."

Carth let out a shaky and entirely disapproving breath, earning a sharp look from Vren. Gadon considered this for a moment, whispering furiously with Zaerdra. When he turned back to Vren his face was firm and determined.

"Deal."

"Very good. I will be delivering them shortly. In the meantime, can you give us any more specific directions as to where that sewer entrance would be? After all, this is a large planet..."

"Yes," Gadon paused, as if weighing something with himself. "Yes, you would definitely need a guide. Mission Vao knows the Undercity like the back of her hand, she's gone down many times with her Wookiee."

The Twi'lek woman winced at this.

"Mission? You can't be serious, Gadon! She's just a kid!"

"You underestimate her, Zaerdra. She and her Wookiee companion know the Undercity well, as they often go down to scavenge. They are perfect for this."

Vren took a slow breath.

"Mission? The blue Twi'lek girl with a Wookiee bodyguard? Yes, I believe we've had the _pleasure_ of meeting before," he said with an air of distaste.

"Good, then you can seek her out and she'll help you locate that entrance to the Vulkar base. At the moment she is scouting around in the Undercity, so look for her there," he paused, as if thinking of something. "You'll get the papers when you bring us those uniforms, and for any other you bring I'll pay you as we agreed."

Vren nodded sharply, already turning away. Carth made an exasperated sound as they entered the outer lobby.

"I don't believe you. You've bartered for the uniforms with possibly the only allies we've got on this planet."

"It earned us some credits, no?"

He smiled at Carth's disapproving stare.

"Don't look at me like that. We've no use for the uniforms, if antyhing they are a liability now that we have other means to pass through checkpoints. I would be a fool to pass this opportunity for exchange."

A rather large group of Hidden Beks gathered with their swoop bikes outside the building, shooting them strange looks as they exited. Their plainly equipped weapons and generally hostile demeanor were a grim reminder that despite being less vicious than most of their counterparts, Hidden Beks were still a swoop bike gang, one of the biggest and currently engaged in a brutal gang war.

Carth eyed the Bek group suspiciously.

"I don't like that Gadon. He's got a hidden agenda, I'm telling you!"

"I don't care if he has three, so long as they don't interfere with us."

Carth sighed, somewhat resentfully.

"Now what?"

"Let's head back to the Cantina. We'll consider next course of action over a game of Pazaak."

X X X

"So what's this all about?"

Canderous' eyes slowly glided from Calo to Davik, idle expectation lingering in the air. Davik cocked his head with a trace of excitement forming on his features. Lounging in one of his opulent rooms, with his top men flanking him at the long hardwood table, some datapads scattered before them, along with an ornate cigarra box. He studied Canderous as he spoke with some suppressed satisfaction.

"It has come to my attention that one of the swoop gangs is getting a shipment of Sith uniforms."

Canderous paused in lighting his expensive cigarra to look at him.

"Which one?"

Davik leaned back in his seat, taking a wistful breath.

"The Hidden Beks."

Calo listened intently, devouring and analyzing every word quietly. Canderous flicked his microtorch lighter shut thoughtfully, exhaling slowly the richly flavoured smoke.

"I wouldn't think they would have time to look for such a dangerous commodity, what with their war with Black Vulkars."

"Apparently, this isn't a standard black market acquisition. It doesn't matter, anyway," his eyes darted to Calo then back at Canderous. "I don't have to tell you how useful genuine Sith uniforms could be to getting me those codes."

Canderous was silent for a moment.

"The Undercity-"

"Forget the Undercity! The good stuff's been taken already anyway. This is the jackpot, right here," he rose to fetch a bottle of vintage Bothan Brandy from a wall cabinet. "I want you to do it, I don't want some idiot screwing this up. Take the new group, see how they work out as a team. It should be good practice for the real deal."

"I could do it easily, Mr.Kang," Calo interjected in his usual nonchalant manner.

Canderous shot him a cold look, while Davik just shook his head.

"No, you've got other things to take care of. Canderous can handle this, can't you?"

Canderous didn't fail to notice the slight warning in the question. He took a slow breath, seemingly engrossed in the slowly smouldering end of the cigarra between his fingers.

"Where are they keeping this shipment?"

"I'll get the info on the location soon. They don't have it yet, if my informants are right. In the meantime, get your men ready. I don't want any screw-ups on this one."

"I don't screw up," Canderous said flatly, earning a soft snort from Calo.

"Most of the time."

Canderous gave him a slow, hard look, matching his icy stare intently. Davik's gaze slowly travelled from one to the other, seemingly bemused as he sipped his drink.

"I have full confidence in you. Then when this thing's over, we can talk about that bonus."

"Taking it from them might cause them to become uncooperative," it wasn't really an objection, more like an indifferent commentary.

Davik paused the glass of amber liquid at his lips, some dark glint in his eye.

"Then you'll just have to put them back in line again. Those swoop gangs are in my territory, they still gotta answer to me."

"It's your call, Mr.Kang," Canderous glanced at unreadable Calo through heavy-lidded eyes, taking another pull from his smoke.

Davik emptied his glass and nodded sharply, adopting that expression he could be seen most of the time with; a mixture of perpetual self-importance and thoughtfulness. High up behind him, various trophies stared on mutely from the wall.

X X X

"Carth!"

Whipping his head around, Carth spotted Vren in the dimness of the Pazaak room, calling for him from one of the tables. Giving an exasperated wave back, he made his way through the thick crowd, the quieter Pazaak room having less of the commotion and loud music of the main floors. Various patrons played in relative silence here, furrowed brows in misty air, heavy with tabacc smoke that curled lazily from cigarras and cigarillos.

Vren was sitting at a table with a Rodian and another human, both seasoned-looking individuals, in Pazaak as well as combat. They gave Carth a suspicious look as he approached and pulled up a free chair stiffly.

"A friend of mine," Vren said absently, barely nodding toward Carth, his attention focused on his cards.

The rest of the match went by in silence of occasional half-muttered remark, as brief as it was.

"So," Carth began at length, glancing up at the departing Pazaak players as Vren collected the winnings. "Do you have any idea yet where to start searching for the Twi'lek? I say we ask around the Lower City before going down, just in case."

Vren paused to closely examine a scratched credit chip, still not looking at Carth.

"Absolutely. We will start in the Bek base itself, when we deliver them the uniforms," he smiled self-congratulatorily. "I told you those extra uniforms will be useful."

Carth made a non-committal noise, always keeping one eye on the idle patrons around them.

"Someone will have to go back in the apartment to collect them."

Vren pocketed the last chips with an air of finality.

"I will go. You should in the meantime see if you can gleam some information on Mission Vao or anything useful, especially about Black Vulkars."

Carth was quiet for a moment, then gave a troubled sigh.

"I don't like us separating, but...I'll see what I can do."

Vren nodded approvingly, finishing the remainder of his soft drink.

"No point in wasting time, then. Let's take the uniforms to the Beks, and then I will go back to the Upper City."

Carth frowned, as if some thought just entered his mind. He licked his lips quickly as they walked through the crowded Cantina.

"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Hidden Beks may be better than the Vulkars, but they're still a swoop gang. Associating with them like this...what if they sell us out to the Sith?"

"In case you haven't noticed, the swoop gangs are not exactly on the friendliest of terms with the Sith. I doubt we have much to fear from that angle."

Carth took a dramatic breath.

"A Republic soldier's worth a lot of credits to the right hands," he warned succinctly.

Vren shot him a scathing look as the fresh air of open metropolis washed over them. _Fresher_, at any rate.

"I suppose you have a better idea then? Well, don't be shy, let's hear it!"

Carth's expression was something between annoyance and exasperation as he readjusted his gunbelt.

"I'm just saying this thing can backfire bad, that's all."

"Considering where we are, there is nary a thing that could not backfire, or even fire openly at us."

Carth pressed out a sharp breath.

"You know, ever since we've been on this planet we're bickering about every damn step."

"It would be rather difficult to argue before that, seeing as how I didn't personally know you."

Carth pointedly ignored the sardonic comment.

"Ever since you woke up, you've done nothing but contradict me in every way, about every little decision, starting from whether or not we should search for Bastila on. And on top of it all you draw constant attention to us, by going into these stupid arguments with everyone we meet!"

Vren eyed him coldly.

"We have nor time, nor luxury of asking politely and wait for others to take pity on us. Accusing _me_ of pettiness is quite hypocritical, as you are the one constantly delaying the mission with complaints."

Carth shook his head in indignant incredulty.

"How can I not, when you're doing such stupid things like the stunt you pulled with the Beks? Or with the uniforms? We've got enough enemies on this planet, we don't need to make any more!"

"Somehow I just _knew_ it would come back to that," Vren interjected caustically. "Perhaps I wouldn't have to contradict you so much, if you realized the necessary measures for our mission to succeed. The odds are stacked greatly against us, in case you haven't noticed!"

"What's necessary has got nothing to do with this!" Carth gesticulated vehemently. "We didn't have to rob all those people, just like we didn't have to kill everyone in that apartment and cause such a stir. And what the hell were you thinking talking to a swoop gang leader like that, knowing what's depending on us? It's almost like you're _trying_ for us to fail."

Vren narrowed his eyes sidelong at him.

"I don't think I like the direction of this conversation."

"Well that's too bad, because I don't like the direction we're heading in! I knew people like you, people that acted big and then didn't deliver when the time came. People that betrayed all that was once important, and turned against their own. I'm not about to let history repeat itself!"

Vren's voice was in contrast ominously low.

"Is that about that Admiral, Karath? Is that what this is about? Because I know you cannot _possibly_ be suggesting I am a traitor."

Carth shook his head, as if in frustration, or perhaps cleansing.

"I'm not saying you are," he said slowly, tone forced into flatness. "It's just...what do you want from me? I'm not going to just stand back and let you jeopardize our chances."

Vren kept his tone clipped, suppressing some deeper seething.

"If anything, I am _improving_ them. Would you care to explain why you are incapable of acting in a professional manner, without accusing me of treason every five steps?"

Carth sucked in a sharp breath, obviously on the edge of control.

"Look, why don't we just get on with our mission and stop wasting time?"

Vren glared tempestously, stopping.

"Then why the bloody hell do you keep striking up these conversations in the middle of our so very important mission?"

"If I remember right, it was _you_ who started prying about my past the last time," Carth's voice grew progressively more frustrated and agitated.

"Yes, because you abruptly ended the previous conversation, brief and awkward as it was, leaving me to wonder whether you had some deeply seated psychological issues. Clearly I was correct."

"What are you trying to say? That I'm crazy?" Carth's expression darkened. "I don't trust people easily, yeah, and for a good reason! I'm not even going to talk about this with you."

"Then perhaps we shouldn't talk at all."

Carth's irritation seemed to be just about ready to spill over at Vren's sudden coldness.

"Maybe we shouldn't!"

They walked the rest of the distance to their speeder in constrained silence, that wrapped around their minds like a viscous webbing of sarvin. Vren unlocked the speeder with a press on the remote, glancing sharply at Carth, who was staring fixedly at some spot on the floor, his expression mimicking some brewing thoughts.

Tense silence was cracked as Vren paused before entering, staring at something across the roadway, then frowning.

"That green speeder," he indicated the small landspeeder parked not far from them. "It looks remarkably like the one that was with us for a good part of our trip here."

Carth's scowling eyes sweeped the roadside to lock with the vehicle in question.

"Yeah, I've seen it too," he shared an alarmed look with Vren. "Too much of a coincidence, if you ask me."

Vren nodded sharply.

"Let's find out, then."

He pulled the door back down and let it lock automatically, already jogging lightly toward one of the underground pedestrian crossings. Carth checked the powerpack in his weapons as they marched quickly through the poorly lit tunnel, muffled sounds of passing speeders dripping through permacrete overhead. When they emerged out on the other side, the speeder was only a few meters away, and it was already starting its engines.

They broke into a run after the gliding vehicle, but it melted into traffic and rushed away before they could reach it.

"Damnit! I knew it!" Carth spat angrily, bent over and holding his knees breathless.

"Yes," Vren stared after the speeder harshly. "Definitely not a coincidence."

X X X

"Lord Malak."

Malak barely acknowledged the respectful address, not even bothering to turn away from the window, from his endless postulating. Half-turning his head in the direction of the vioce, barely an inclination, let Admiral Karath know it would not be out of line to speak. He did so with conciseness and confidence.

"I have just received report; Admiral Horthy has returned from the Outer Rim."

This made Malak whirl on his subordinate, more in a show of spectacular manner and drama than any real surprise.

"And?"

Karath couldn't help but wince at the voice, and those devouring eyes drilling into him, as used as he was to the Dark Lord's presence. In fact, he suspected in some bleak, distant corner of his mind that one could never get used to Darth Malak's presence, not _fully_. At least with Darth Revan it was...different. He would not spend much time with the regular military, relegating such duties to Darth Malak, and when he would, the aura he was emanating was just so alien and cold, so completely outside comprehension that he was just beyond any reach and definition.

But Malak, he was different. He was closer down to a common man, to the plane where his thoughts lingered, and wallowed in the bleak plains of mundanity and despair, he was much more easily related to. More immediately threatening, more..._predatory_.

Karath cleaned his throat swiftly before answering.

"Nothing, Lord Malak. The initial reports are still scarce, I expect he will fully inform you in person upon his arrival," he paused for briefest of moments, causing Malak to narrow his eyes into demanding slits. "However, he did relay that the Jedi activity in the Outer worlds has been reduced to minimum. The negotiations with the favorably inclined worlds also yielded satisfactory results."

"So aggressive negotiation _did_ prove effective," Malak half-chuckled to himself, then his gaze returned back to the view outside the viewpanel. "As I expected it would. I hope this is not the only reason for you disturbing me?"

The wicked hook of a question, accompanied by sudden durasteel in his voice, made Karath frown in momentary panic.

"No, Lord Malak, I...there are still no news on Bastila. Ground teams are performing extensive searches planetwide as we speak. There should be some response soon."

Malak kept staring out the viewport, his eyes narrowing in some quietly seething venom.

"If they continue to fail to produce results, we will have to resort to more _drastic_ measures."


End file.
